


The Human, the Ice King, and the Stone

by Thorinsmut



Series: The Narnia AU [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, Flashbacks, Food, Forgiveness, Friendship, Frottage, Hopeful Ending, Internalized Transphobia, Interspecies, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Mentions of Trench Warfare, Multi, Narnia AU, PTSD, Polyamory, Prophecy, Shellshock, Temperature Play, Trans Characters, everyone is different species, evil Arkenstone always fucking stuff up, fanfic as performance art, ice corruption, lol what is canon, nonbinary characters - Freeform, secrets and lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 29,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long have the Centaurs of the line of Durin ruled the land of Narnia. They are wise and strong, and none are better at reading prophecies in the dance of the stars in the night sky.</p><p>When King Thorin reads a portent of a time of great hardship for Narnia, he goes in search of old power, of things long hidden. The Arkenstone, fabled ice jewel of the North. After all, no price is too high to pay for the safety of his people.</p><p>Meanwhile Bilbo Baggins, fresh back from the trenches of WW1, is not exactly sure how he ended up in Narnia when all he was doing was hiding in the closet from a thunderstorm. Thankfully, he runs into a friendly faun named Bofur right away, and his flute playing is soothing and he seems to know what to do.</p><p>He has no idea he's about to be thrust back into another war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Second Wave - Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's start over from the beginning, shall we?

The stars just looked like points of light in the night sky to Dwalin.

To Thorin, though, their dance in the heavens spoke in portents and prophecy. There was a reason the Centaurs of Thorin's family had ruled Narnia for generations in their wisdom, while Dwalin merely served him as Captain of the Minotaur guard.

Dwalin breathed out a long huff of air that hung in a cloud in front of him in the cold air. He shook his horns to ease out the cramp in his neck from looking up so much, stamping his feet to keep his blood moving as he waited for sunrise.

"It is bad," Thorin breathed, face still turned up to the stars. "A danger approaches, from where I cannot see. An evil unleashed. A time of terrible peril for all of Narnia. It is near now, Dwalin."

"That's why we're here, isn't it?" Dwalin pointed out. It wasn't all that usual for a King and a solitary Minotaur guard to wander so far from the borders of Narnia. Into the Ettinsmuir and the wild lands of the North, to search through jagged mountains and long forgotten ruins.

"Right you are, old friend." Thorin finally looked down from the stars and slung his arm around Dwalin's shoulders, warm and familiar. "We must hurry. I do not like to leave Narnia unguarded for so long."

Dwalin made no complaint. If he was going to be up before dawn to let Thorin read the stars, he might as well be traveling. He wouldn't be falling asleep again anyway. Their packs of supplies had been light to begin with to allow them to travel at speed, and were lighter still now as their food stocks dwindled. Thorin lead the way, heavy hooves churning the earth, and Dwalin ran on at his side.  
  
There was nothing they need fear, even in these wild lands. Between Thorin's bow, sword, and hooves, and Dwalin's horns and axes, they could stand against any enemy. Thorin was not the sort of King to stand back and let someone else do his fighting for him, and Dwalin loved him all the fiercer for it. They knew well how to work together, after all these long years. Thorin did not run faster than Dwalin could keep up on the straightaways, and Dwalin did not leap on ahead when Thorin had to pick his way through rougher terrain.

About noon they found the ruin. It was the pride of a different age, a great castle of stone and ice with its tall jagged spires long since tumbled down around it. Dwalin's strong arms and powerful shoulders were a boon to them as they began to dig through the rubble, moving rubble to try and get into the old heart of the palace. Thorin, with a simple harness of rope, was powerful enough to move even the largest stone.

It took them two days, even together, to get down to the lower layers—built strong enough that not even the castle spires falling down upon it could shift it. It was cold, even in the middle of the day, and the stones were dusted in layers of frost. Dwalin's fingers stung despite the heat of exertion and his thick fur by the time they got a doorway opened.

A cold wind blew out of the passageway, enough to set frost to fur, and there was a light within, glittering as cold as moonlight. Thorin rushed in before Dwalin could warn him to be careful of traps or unsteady stonework. Thankfully, it held.

Thorin emerged again in only moments, with the stone held cradled in his hands.

"The Arkenstone of Legend," he breathed. "It really exists." His long dark hair and fur were dusted with hoarfrost, his blue eyes glittered with hope, as bright and sharp as ice crystals in a glacier. "With this strength, no evil will be able to take Narnia from us. Come, Dwalin. We must get home." He hugged Dwalin close, cold face nuzzling into Dwalin's neck, and clapped him on the back, sharing his joy.

The touch of Thorin's hand felt like a shard of ice piercing Dwalin's heart.


	2. Second Wave - Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo finds a strange place

It was just thunder.

Bilbo _knew_ it was just a summer thunderstorm. He'd watched it rolling up on the horizon. He was safe. Safe in this country house far away from the battle front he would never be going back to. He was safe. He was safe at home, and outside wasn't a battleground and no mans land, littered with bodies and bombs, it was just his mother's garden--richest in the county. Belladonna had seeded it with a shovelful of earth from her grandfather's garden, and _he_ always claimed his own grandmother had seeded his with earth from fairyland. Marvelous gardeners, the Tooks, and Bilbo was back at home among them. He knew it, but when the shells burst overhead he hit the ground.

Not shells, thunder and lighting, but another exploded right overhead and all that was left was instinct. Get to the most sheltered spot you can find, curl up as small as you can, pray that you'll be alive at the end of the barrage or that you die fast otherwise.

Bilbo pushed his back against the back of the dugout—no, the stone wall at the back of the closet—hands over his ears as he waited for the shelling to stop. There were echoed screams between the bangs, the earth spoiled with blood and gunpowder and despair.

"Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here." The endless chant of the hopeless. As if, if they just tried hard enough, they could be transported away to safety in the blink of an eye. As if Bilbo could push through the stone wall into the solid earth of his mother's garden beyond, push into another world entirely.

It was cold in the trench, so cold. Water soaked through the back of his jacket and trousers, snow melt cold seeping into his skin. The barrage was over, for a moment. Snow was falling down in front of Bilbo's eyes when he finally opened them. Snow was heavy on the ground and the thick dark trees that surrounded him.

Bilbo was cut off, separated from his unit. He didn't his bayonet or his pistol, no even his trench knife, and bit his lips on a whimper. He had no compass, no way to know where their own or the enemy lines were. He could not even call out—he was just as likely to be heard by the enemy as his own unit, and bring them all into danger.

He pushed out into the trees, keeping low, keeping quiet. Moving as fast as he could with his bad leg and no crutch. If he could get a view of the land, he might be able to figure out where he was. If he could figure out where their lines were, he could get into his own side where he belonged.

If he were particularly lucky he might avoid death or capture.

The forest was deadly silent. The only sounds were his own breathing and the crunching of the snow under his boots. Bilbo pushed on, though the cold nipped at his ears and fingers and sapped his strength.

Movement, when he finally noticed it, was so well matched to the forest he nearly didn't see. He only had the time to notice that it was _not_ an allied uniform and dove for the nearest bush. He forgot his bum leg, though, and it collapsed under him. He nearly screamed, every hair on end, expecting any instant a hail of bullets as he made his way under the bush in an undignified crawl through the snow.

There wasn't, though, for far too many pounding heartbeats until he could bring himself to peek out from between the snowy branches.

"Easy now, easy..." the stranger crooned, peering toward Bilbo's hiding place in the bush. His voice sounded like home, not exactly an English accent but certainly not a German one and somehow painfully familiar. He wasn't wearing an enemy uniform any more than an allied one, just brown pants and a scarf knit of a half-dozen different colors. He wasn't wearing a helmet at all, just an odd-looking hat.

What was a civilian doing here?

"There's nothing to fear from me," the stranger said, smiling. His face looked very friendly, like someone you'd trust, and Bilbo didn't trust it. He could be a spy, a turncoat. "Here, I know what'll coax you out." He lifted something long and thin, and Bilbo cringed away from the gun for just an instant before a soft tune met his ears.

Not a gun, a flute. The stranger was playing a song that sounded like the first budding of springtime, like warm sun and gentle rain and the joy of the first uncurling leaves. Listening to it, there was no possible way to feel afraid. No room for fear, paranoia, or battle. It was a song that begged for dance, and when Bilbo had crawled out from under the bush the stranger did just that.

He leapt up, impossibly high, and began to dance a jig to his playing. He was incredibly light on his—goodness, those were hooves, weren't they. What Bilbo had taken for a hat was actually curly hair, curling horns, and long drooping ears. His pants weren't pants at all but furry legs, meaning that he was absolutely naked. His cock was extremely perky, bouncing about between his legs, and Bilbo laughed aloud at the sight.

The creature winked at him and kept on playing right to the end of the tune. Bilbo had managed to get back on his feet by then.

"Master Bofur, at your service," the creature bowed when he was done, not at all winded by his performance.

"What on earth _are_ you?" Bilbo asked.

"A faun of course," Bofur answered, grinning. He stroked his long swooping mustaches. "Now what are you, little bush, that's the question. Let me guess, a holly? A currant? Juniper? Not an apple tree, surely?"

"I'm human!" Bilbo protested, laughing a bit at Bofur's joke on him for having hidden in the bushes. It seemed impossible to be anything but in good spirits around Bofur. "Bilbo Baggins, and I'm actually quite lost. The front is still rather fresh for me, I'm afraid. I thought I was back _there_ for a moment and I'm not sure how I got _here_ instead. There are no such things as fauns in my world."

Bofur's eyes had gone wide as Bilbo talked, the smile falling from his face. "Human?" he breathed, looking over his shoulder like he thought they were going to be overheard. "Oh dear, oh dear, that's a pickle." He smiled again, though, when he noticed Bilbo tensing. "Of course the thing to do in any case is to get you in front of the fire with a nice cup of tea as quick as possible! You're soaked through with snow."

"Tea sounds lovely," Bilbo agreed. Bofur generously offered his arm, and Bilbo took it gratefully. Bofur was very warm, sturdy and sure-footed to help take the weight off Bilbo's bad leg. The snowy wood was quite lovely, now that Bilbo was seeing it properly. If he'd been thinking right before he would have noticed that the trees were free of any scars from bullets or bombs.

Narnia, Bofur told him, when Bilbo asked again where he was. Not that the name told Bilbo much.

Bofur's house, when they reached it, was a lovely cave as pretty as any house you could see. It was warm and cozy inside with a fire in the stove, and Bilbo was soon stripped and wrapped in a big towel before it. He might have felt a bit self-conscious of his nakedness if Bofur hadn't been even more naked without any sign of discomfort at all. Bilbo's clothes were hung up to dry, and he found himself sipping chamomile tea with honey and eating biscuits which Bofur claimed came from his brother Bombur, the best baker in the western wastes and quite the prolific father if the little portraits lined up on the wall were anything to go by.

With the warmth of the fire and the tea, Bilbo soon found himself nodding, Bofur's face and words not making any sense at all.

"Ah, poor thing," Bofur said. "Let's get you tucked in to sleep. My bed's big enough for two if you don't mind sharing."

"Thank you," Bilbo accepted. The bed was soft and the blankets cozy, and Bofur cuddled up with him was as warm as a furnace. Bilbo would have expected them to sleep at a little distance, but Bofur held him close. It felt good, like comrades in arms holding on for comfort without the fear and danger added to it. There were some parts Bilbo did miss, as horrible as the entire war had been.

"Ah, you beauty," Bofur breathed, fingertips gently teasing at Bilbo's curls and exploring the curve of his ear, his smooth cheek, the line of a jaw that had always been much softer than square. He ran his thumb across Bilbo's bottom lip, and Bilbo shivered through.

"Would you like a kiss and a tumble to see us off to sweet dreams?" Bofur asked, as though it were the simplest and most normal thing to ask.

Bilbo blinked up at him, taken aback. "I say that's rather... I mean..." Well it wasn't as though Bilbo hadn't taken his share of comfort with his fellow soldiers, his buddies. Maybe a bit more than some, being declared soft and pleasant to cuddle and 'almost as nice as a girl'. It was intended as a complement, but Bilbo had always thought it was a bit rude. He'd rather be just as nice as himself instead of nearly something he wasn't. Not _exactly_. Still, he'd gladly shared what comfort he could, and what happened in the trenches stayed in the trenches. Though it might be rather nice if the few good bits of it didn't...

"Is that done in Narnia?" Bilbo finally managed, in a bit of a squeak, his face flaming.

"Oh aye," Bofur answered cheerfully, tilting his head to the side. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Bilbo could have repeated all sorts of lines about decency and morality and unnatural behavior, but he was talking to a faun of all things, who it could be argued was already unnatural just by existing.

"I honestly don't know," he said instead, and leaned in to kiss Bofur.

Bofur kissed back enthusiastically, messy and sweet with their lips never sealing for long. He rolled over on top of Bilbo almost immediately, and he was very nice to have there even if his mustache did tickle. Bilbo didn't have to do anything that strained his leg, and he could pet all of Bofur from the top of his horns down his wiry shoulders and back all the way down to his furry bottom. Bofur bleated in surprise when Bilbo tweaked his tail, and retaliated by sucking and nibbling his way down Bilbo's neck in the way that never failed to melt him to the bone.

Bilbo was already at the edge by the time Bofur gathered their cocks together in his hand. They tumbled over together in quick succession, and after a brief wipedown with Bilbo's pocket handkerchief they collapsed into a boneless heap to sleep.

"Sleep well, my little tree," Bofur murmured against Bilbo's cheek with soft whiskery kisses. "We'll have _her_ figure out what to do with you in the morning."


	3. Chapter Two - a strange breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo meets some more creatures of Narnia, and learns a bit about what's going on here

The morning dawned bright and cold.

Bofur was already up when Bilbo woke, and Bilbo was quickly bundled into his clothes and a big down coat on top of it. Bofur promised that there would be more food than Bilbo knew what to do with once they'd popped around the hill to Bombur's, and they headed out into the cold without even a bite to eat for breakfast.

Bilbo knew more than he'd like about cold marches on an empty stomach, but the pace was easy and Bofur's arm was more steadying than a crutch.

"So, how do we get me back-" Bilbo started, only to be shushed quickly.

Bofur's eyes darted to the bare trees, as though there might be spies behind any of them. "Not out here," he breathed. "We can't be too careful. Even some of the trees are on _his_ side."

Bilbo nodded, though he didn't understand at all. He ached to know who this 'he' was, and how exactly a tree could take sides. He very nearly wanted to accuse Bofur of playing a joke on him, but Bofur looked far too serious. And he was a faun, when such a thing really shouldn't be possible. Who was Bilbo to say that trees couldn't take sides, in a land where fauns existed?

The snow on Bofur's side of the hills was smooth and unbroken, but on Bombur's side it was already trampled into paths coming and going from his door. There were quite a few hoofprints like Bofur made, and a great many large animal tracks, mixed in with what very much looked like bare human footprints in the snow.

The interior of Bombur's home was as hectic as the tracks had hinted. There were little faunlings leaping and prancing everywhere, and animals walking about on their hind legs and wearing clothes and talking, and people that looked very very odd. Bilbo was rushed through rather quickly and into a quieter room where he was settled by the fire with a big bowl of hot porridge with berries.  
The introductions were a blur. Bombur was a big round faun with red fur and an apron, his horns curved into big round loops that nearly brushed his shoulders. Several people were introduced as Bombur's spouses—Mirra, a fauness with a big laugh and a small beard and a baby faunling in her arms, and two of the very odd looking people who were introduced as trees. A broad-shouldered alder, and a motherly apple. They looked human, almost, except there seemed to be twigs growing through their hair. The twigs were bare of course, it being winter, but Bilbo could imagine they would bud and blossom come spring, and what a sight that would be!

It took him a while to realize that they were being referred to singly, even though everyone used 'they' for them. Most of the trees were not referred to as either male or female, and it made sense on consideration. Bilbo did know more than enough horticulture to realize that most plants were a bit of both. They were called 'mix' rather that miss or missus or mister; such a delightful compromise of an honorific.

Both the alder and the apple were introduced as spouses of Bombur, and several of the faunlings and sapling children introduced as their children. Then a tall mossy oak was introduced as the apple's spouse, and a sleek little male willow was introduced as Mirra's husband and it was honestly just easier to smile and nod as though any of it made sense. When Bofur introduced a big fierce badger as his cousin, it hardly even registered as strange.

"Pleased to meet you," Bilbo said. "Pleased to meet you," and kept eating his delicious porridge. This was all quite a bit beyond even his mother's fairy stories that went along with the Tooks' claim to fairy blood, but everyone was friendly and Bilbo wasn't made to feel the odd one out. When his porridge was done, a young fox whisked his bowl away and a teenaged faun with a chatty squirrel on her shoulders helped Bombur bring out a raisin-studded scone and a big pot of ginger tea which was shared around by everyone.

Several of the trees had gathered in the far corner of the room, speaking to each other quietly as they circled around and around each other. Soon the oak and several very large moles brought in a large round tub of earth, and the little male willow sprang into it and burst into leaf. Bilbo gasped aloud, seeing him transform into an actual tree.

The rest of the trees weren't done yet. They swayed in a circle around the tub, singing a wordless tune as quiet as a breeze through branches but so sweet Bilbo very nearly stood up to join in. Only a twinge in his bad leg when he tested it reminded him not to. It wasn't as though he knew the tune anyway.

An otter and a beaver squeezed through the circle, carrying pitchers of water, which they poured slowly over the willow's roots. The willow grew at a tremendous pace, a new branch splitting off and twisting, thickening, and then just as suddenly dying. The oak tugged the branch off with a sharp crack, and the willow leapt back out of the tub with a laugh and fresh buds all over his twigs.

"Oh, that felt lovely!" he crooned. "Almost as good as spring. It's been too long since I rooted."

"We'll be rooting soon enough, I'm sure." Mirra intentionally pronounced it more like 'rutting', to much laughter and merriment. "It always puts you in a mood."

The willow laughed and leaned up to kiss her cheek, both arms around her waist. "I can't help what I am, love."

Bombur calmly filled Mirra's tea cup back up, smiling at her as his wife kissed and snuggled another man. It was decidedly strange, but everyone was so matter-of-fact about it that it was hard to feel that it was anything but very normal.

Bifur the badger took the broken-off branch with a gruff word and sat by the fire to begin carving it with a very large knife. Bilbo couldn't understand a word Bifur said in his rough gravelly voice, but the others didn't seem to have trouble. The oak and the moles took the tub of soil back out of the room, and everyone was very comfortably chatting and eating and teasing each other. It was wonderfully homey, despite the fact that only Bilbo was human in the entire house.

The breakfast crowd was beginning to thin out when Bifur stood up from beside the fire and pushed through to Bilbo's side to hand him what he'd been carving.

It was an odd shape for it, but it was unmistakably a crutch sized just right for Bilbo. Bilbo gaped at it, then struggled up to his feet to test it out. It was light and slender, but the wood strong and well-seasoned and the shape of it just right. As though it had been grown for him, and of course it was.

"Thank you," Bilbo thanked Bifur as he settled back into his comfortable chair, and then turned to the willow. "Thank you so much, it's perfect. I don't know how I could ever repay you." He had given Bilbo literally a part of his body, and he had no idea how one went about repaying that.

"It was my pleasure," the willow waved it off. He left Mirra to come inspect the crutch, and Bilbo happily handed it over.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name in the bustle before," Bilbo apologized.

"Sal," he introduced himself, his hands wrapping around Bilbo's when he handed the crutch back. His skin was dry and cool, but the touch sent an electric thrill up Bilbo's body coupled with the bright intensity of his green eyes. "May my branch serve you well... and maybe you and I can bloom together some time." He touched Bilbo's cheek, and spun away laughing as all the blood in Bilbo's body headed straight for his face.

"Goodness," Bilbo said, a little weakly. He covered by serving himself some more tea, and when he dared glance up through his lashes no one was staring. Everyone was still chatting and acting completely normal. "Are all Narnians so _forward_." he asked in a whisper aside to Bofur, who'd finally come to rejoin him.

"Sal's just a flirt," Bofur said, carding his fingers into Bilbo's curls. "Wood nymphs, dryads; they're notorious."

"As bad as fauns?" Bilbo asked, oh so innocently.

Bofur laughed and kissed Bilbo's cheek. "Even worse than fauns, but only in springtime."

"If we're ever like to see spring again," Bombur murmured into his beard.

The room had emptied rather quickly, Bilbo noticed, and the oak barred the door to close in those few adults who were left and began weaving back and forth, quiet rustling and creaking sounds. Bilbo could tell white noise intended to cover conversation from being overheard when he saw it. Everyone was looking at Bilbo now, and he shrank somewhat in the chair.

"Bilbo is human?" Mirra asked, hardly more than a whisper. "You're really from another world?"

"Yes I am, last I checked." Bilbo said, the hush of the room had infected him enough that he whispered himself. "I'm from England. I got lost, and I'd like to get home."

"That's a change in the tides, and no mistake," Sal murmured. "She'll need to be informed at once. And how do we make sure he doesn't hear of it?"

"We'll have to take Bilbo to her, fast as we can," Bofur added. "Just a small group, to keep out of sight. She'll know what to do."

Bifur growled something, touching the big knife on his belt, and Bofur threw him a grateful smile and thanks.

"I'll pack up some travel rations," Bombur volunteered, with a nod.

"Excuse me," Bilbo broke in to the agreeing murmurs, just a bit louder than everyone else was speaking. "Who exactly is this 'she'? And this 'he' we're hiding from? What exactly is going on?"

The group stilled uncomfortably, glancing around at each other.

"You don't know anything?" Mirra asked.

"I know quite a few things," Bilbo said, maybe a little sharper than necessary. "But nothing at all of Narnia."

Bofur put a hand on Bilbo's back, warm and soothing. "He is a centaur, the Ice King. He keeps the land of Narnia in an unending winter, and he's got packs of ice-corrupted wolves and minotaurs to do his dirty work. She is the witch, the Lady Dis. She counters him, as much as she can."

"I... I see." Bilbo said.

"And you're the key that's needed to break his endless winter," Mira said, leaning forward eagerly. "It was prophesied in the stars. _A stranger's hand from foreign land_ , that's what we need, and it doesn't get much more foreign than you."

"Aye, you're no earthly kind," Bofur agreed. "Not of our earth."

"Oh," Bilbo bit his lip, looking up at the grim and hopeful faces that surrounded him. "I'm so sorry, but I've had my fill of war. I don't..." his hands were shaking, and he clenched them tight in front of himself. "I don't want any part of it. Ever again. I'd like to go home now."

There was an uncomfortable silence following his pronouncement, with everyone looking at each other.

"We don't know how," Bombur finally said.

"I'm sorry Bilbo," Mirra reached forward to rest her hand on his knee briefly. "If you'll help us or not, the first step has to be the witch. Maybe she can find a way to send you back to the land of Eng."

Well. There was no use crying over what couldn't be helped. Bilbo squared his chin and nodded once, firmly. "Let's go to the witch, then."


	4. Chapter Three - marching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bifur and Bofur lead Bilbo toward the witch's camp.

Once Bilbo was armed with a good sturdy knife and had been given a satchel of supplies by Bombur, their small group headed out into the forest to go to the witch's camp.

Bifur took the lead, heavy barrel-body breaking the trail for them. Bilbo followed behind him, and Bofur took up the tail, obscuring Bilbo's distinctly un-Narnian boot prints. Bifur and Bofur were both carrying much heavier packs than Bilbo, but Bilbo couldn't even feel bad about that after the first hour of walking. He had enough on his mind just trying to keep moving.

Bofur's stories helped pass the time. He chatted on as they walked, about the land they walked through and the people who used to live there. The games they used to play, and the fun they had. The western wastes had once been a vibrant place to live, before the endless winter. Bofur didn't seem to mind that Bilbo didn't answer, content with the occasional growls Bifur gave him.

The crutch was a very good one, but it was still a crutch. Bilbo's arm began to ache from the shoulder down rather quickly, and then his armpit began to feel chaffed no matter how he tried to hold the crutch. It was fully miserable, even if his leg hadn't been aching something awful and getting worse with each step. Bilbo set his jaw and focused on following Bifur's little black paws padding along in front of him until it seemed like they were the only thing that existed.

Bilbo followed along in a daze of exhaustion. Step-crutch, step, step-crutch, step, uphill and down as the snow drifted slowly down. Bilbo was in such a torpor he stopped dead in his tracks when Bifur vanished. One moment his paws had been in front of Bilbo, and the next they had completely disappeared. Bilbo blinked several times before he realized there was a hole in the snowbank beneath the bushes, big enough to crawl into, and followed Bifur in.

The burrow was a small one, and very dark inside. It smelled of rich earth and warmed as soon as they were all three in it, though that did come with a corresponding smell of wet fur from both Bifur and Bofur.

Bilbo was just glad to be stopped. The burrow felt _friendly_ , if a cave could be such a thing. Bilbo had definitely slept in worse places.

"Here we are," Bofur murmured, leaning against him in the dark. "We'll be safe to rest here, have a little spot to eat to gather our strength?"

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer that that sounded very good, thank you, when Bofur's knee bumped his bad leg and all that came out was a sharp pained cry. He cut it off quickly, hissing between his teeth instead and fear prickling all down his spine that the enemy might have _heard_ and pinpointed their location. Some part of him was waiting for the mortars to start firing, even though he knew there were none in Narnia.

"You're hurt!?" Bofur patted all over Bilbo as though he was going to find a fresh injury.

"Just the bad leg," Bilbo said, even though that was only the worst of it. What he wouldn't give for some morphine about now, but it was all rationed. There were those who needed it more. Bilbo flinched when his leg was touched again, though the hand in the dark was gentle. "I can keep going, sir."

He wasn't giving up yet. He knew how this went. You just had to keep marching until you couldn't anymore, and after that you still kept marching because the only other option was to lay down and die. There weren't enough stretchers and ambulances for the injured. Arms around each other and stumbling on until you found someplace safe enough for a tent hospital and they patched you up to send you marching back into the fire.

There was music, though, a soft hum in the dark. An unfamiliar tune, but it sounded like safety and made Bilbo feel brave. He turned toward it, all instinct to bury his face against the scratchy-wool uniform of the soldier beside him who was humming it.

No, not soldier. Bofur. The scratchy wool was his scarf, and Bilbo nearly sobbed as he held on tight. He was here, in Narnia, in a burrow with Bofur and Bifur and not going back to the front. Ever again.

"That's it," Bofur murmured in the tune of the song. "That's it, come on back my beauty."

"Thank you," Bilbo whispered against the warm and slightly furry skin at the corner of Bofur's neck and jaw. "I would like that food you mentioned, now."

"Right," Bofur agreed readily. He helped Bilbo with his satchel, wrapping him up cozy in a blanket from it. Food was cold, nuts mostly, but it filled the emptiness of Bilbo's belly. Afterward Bofur shared a little bottle of strong berry cordial that warmed Bilbo clear to his toes and eased the worst of his aches.

Bilbo snuggled close to Bofur, enjoying his warmth and the way Bofur's hands felt stroking his back and playing with his hair. It was a very comfortable way to drift to sleep, even with Bifur growling to Bofur and Bofur answering in murmurs to quiet for Bilbo to really catch. The words didn't really seem important.

"...it's a stubborn thing, this Bilbo creature. I like it," Bifur growled, when Bilbo was already more than halfway asleep. "We'll find it easier paths tomorrow."

"Excuse you, I am not an 'it'," Bilbo muttered back.

"Ye're listening now, are you?" There was humor in Bifur's gravely voice. "So what are you then?"

"I'm a M... hm... person." Calling himself a _man_ never felt quite right to Bilbo, despite that been the expected terminology. There were Men and Beasts, and within Men there were men and women. Everything neatly split into two categories and no inbetween, and that's just the way it was. Except not so much here in Narnia. "Human," Bilbo landed on, yawning and nosing deeper into Bofur's scarf.

There was a bit of snuffling and scraping in the burrow, and then Bifur's solid furry back pressed up against Bilbo's other side so he was hemmed in close by both of his companions. Warm and safe.

"Sleep then, Bilbo person." Bifur suggested, as Bofur began humming another song. Bilbo obeyed to drift into a dreamless sleep before Bofur finished a single bar of it.


	5. Second Wave – the only hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no pressure, Bofur

Bofur let Mirra draw him aside while Bombur packed up supplies for the trip.

"You have to work on Bilbo," she whispered, glancing toward where Bifur and Neris the Alder were preparing Bilbo for the trip. "It's only smart to take a roundabout route to her, keep out of sight. That's plenty of time to convince Bilbo to help."

"I don't know, Mirra." Bofur chewed on his lip a bit, shifting from hoof to hoof uncomfortably. He'd seen the scars, where Bilbo's body had been torn into like nothing Bofur had ever seen before. "The poor thing's traumatized already. I don't think Bilbo's the right person..."

"Bilbo _has_ to be the right person," Mirra interrupted. "You know how long it's been since a human fell into Narnia. We can't wait around for another!"

"Do we _know_ that Bilbo is human?" Bofur leaned in closer to whisper. "I mean, you've got to wonder..." They both looked back toward Bilbo, who was following after Neris and Sal like a lost puppy with Bifur trailing grumpily behind. Bilbo hadn't been able to look away from the trees since being introduced to them. It was almost enough to make Bofur jealous, if he'd been the jealous sort.

Mirra's hand closing on Bofur's scarf to yank on it like a collar brought his attention right back to her. Her eyes burned so Bofur could almost believe she had a little efreet in her bloodlines.

"Bilbo _has_ to be human," Mirra hissed. "Who's to say humans aren't just like that? None of us has ever met another. We need a human, so Bilbo has to be one." She shook her head. There were tears in her eyes, her voice gone thick as she continued. "We can't keep living like this forever, Bofur. We're weakening, all of us, and you know it. More trees go dormant every day. Half of my children are trees, Bofur! I can't lose them, just _hope_ they're strong enough to weather the endless winter and come out alive on the other side!"

Bofur nodded. It was bad. Mirra was right it was _very_ bad, he just hadn't thought the little folk like them would be called to do anything about it. Best to keep your head down and let the royals figure out their magical battles on their own.

"A stranger's hand from a foreign land, Bofur," Mirra continued. "That's what the prophecy says will break the winter. All our lives might depend on you getting Bilbo to side with us." Mirra gave another tug to Bofur's scarf to make sure he was paying attention. "You do anything it takes. Even if it's that flute of yours. Promise?"

"Aye," Bofur conceded, heart heavy. "Aye, I'll do my best, but Bilbo's a skittish little thing. Not a fighter."

Mirra just bumped foreheads with Bofur and gestured him back toward Bilbo with a flick of her eyes.

"Weapons?" Bilbo asked Bifur, glancing up toward Neris for confirmation. "You're asking what weapons I need?"

"Bifur will be there to protect you, and Bofur, but it would be best if you were armed in case of you're attacked on the road." Neris confirmed.

Bilbo's face was pale, free hand trembling until Bilbo shoved it into a pocket to hide it. Bilbo's voice was painfully nonchalant. "Oh, honestly, anything will work as a weapon in a pinch. I was trained with bayonets, rifles, pistols." Bofur had no idea what any of those weapons were, and Bilbo seemed to realize this looking around at everyone's confused faces. "Well, you don't likely have those, do you? For close quarters a good trench knife won't go astray, or a club. Hell, even a sharpened shovel will do."

"Not a fighter, hm?" Mirra murmured, a laugh in her voice. Bofur pushed past her without answering. Bofur wrapped an arm around Bilbo in support. Bilbo's entire body was shaking, just faintly.

"Bifur and I will look after you," Bofur promised. He rested one hand on Bifur's broad furry shoulder, and the badger nodded. "We'll get you a good knife, but we'll do our best to make sure you never have to use it."

Bilbo smiled up at Bofur, relaxing just slightly. "Well then, I suppose we should be off? Sooner started, soonest ended and all that."

"Aye, it looks like Bombur's got the food ready," Bofur agreed. Mirra gave Bofur one last pointed look as she helped Bifur into his pack, and Bofur nodded to her.

It still didn't feel right to him, even though he knew that Mirra wasn't wrong. Bilbo _was_ Narnia's only chance.


	6. Chapter Four - the witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meeting the witch

Morning dawned with faint light reflecting into the burrow, and after only a moment of confusion Bilbo remembered where he was and who he was with. Breakfast was oat cakes seasoned with cinnamon, and then they all three climbed out of the burrow to continue their trip.

"Thank you for your protection," Bifur growled to the tree under who's roots they'd taken shelter, and the tree shook its bare branches to send a small avalanche of snow to obscure the burrow opening. There was the hint of a face for an instant, limbs upraised to the sky, and then nothing but a tree again.

They'd been sleeping beneath a dryad all along! No wonder the burrow had felt so friendly. Bilbo nodded his thanks to the tree and followed Bifur as he lead them on.

"Not all the trees are dryads, are they?" Bilbo asked.

"Oh no, not at all!" Bofur explained quickly, while Bifur just laughed. "There's maybe one or two dryads for every few thousand trees. That's when they're all awake. More and more of them go under, the longer this unnatural winter lasts."

Bofur's voice was wistful, and Bilbo bit his lip and said nothing. It was a terrible shame what was happening to Narnia, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it. It was not his world and it was not his war.

True to Bifur's word, they found easier paths the second day. Less up-and-down, and more following the frozen river past an impressive beaverdam and then up between the hills. When they did have to go up hills, Bofur offered Bilbo his shoulder for balance. Slinging an arm around Bofur's solid shoulders and having Bofur's strong arm around his shoulders in return, taking most of his weight, was more comfortable than relying on the crutch the entire time. Bofur's hooves never slipped on even the worst footing.

They rested, also, whenever Bifur sniffed out a place he thought was safe enough. Bifur's voice still sounded like growls, but also if not exactly like words, like _ideas_. It seemed to work best if Bilbo didn't try to think about _how_ he understood Bifur and just listened.

Bilbo was still sore, but the experience was not as miserable as the day before had been. A little past midday, Bilbo began to hear dripping water – faint trickling sounds just on the edge of hearing. The sun grew warmer. Soon he was unbuttoning his down coat, and then taking it off entirely. The air that had been crisp and cold began to smell of mud and water and growing things. The snow turned to slush beneath their feet – Bilbo had to rely on Bofur's balance again – and then they walked into springtime.

Tucked into the natural fortress between the hills, the witch's camp was overflowing with life. One pocket of good green and gold in an endless wasteland of white and gray. There were pavilions, bright tents with pennants waving in the breeze and the one at the center practically a castle. It looked far more like a fair than the dingy utility of an army camp. Just looking at it, feeling the place, Bilbo wanted to laugh and run like a child, spin until he was dizzy and lay in the grass to soak up the sunlight with his toes in the dirt.

He couldn't, though. _Running_ wasn't something Bilbo would ever do again. He could walk, with a crutch or a cane, and he was far luckier than far too many.

Their group were met almost as soon as they caught sight of the pavilions. There was a pair of shadows in the sky, huge birds Bilbo thought for a moment until they swooped down to land in front of their group. They were furry, huge bats nearly as tall as Bilbo, with bright eyes and sharp clever fox faces. They also had spears, small and light but wickedly sharp.

"Who goes?" the bats asked, waving their spears a bit. Their hands were awkwardly shaped, but the way they moved their spears showed they definitely knew how to use them.

Bilbo took an instinctive step back, bumping into Bofur, while Bifur stepped forward to greet them in his low growls.

"We are friends," Bilbo caught. "Loyal to the true Narnia. We bring you Bilbo." Bifur leaned in closer, and Bilbo heard him whisper something that might have been 'human' into one of the bats' ears. Considering how big a fuss everyone had made about that so far, Bilbo wouldn't be surprised.

The bats glanced at each other, wide eyed, and then turned to Bilbo with matched smiles. "Welcome friends!" They greeted, bowing and then moving to flank their group. "The Lady will be most pleased to meet you."

"Come on," Bifur growled, lumbering on toward the camp, but Bilbo resisted Bofur's little nudge to urge him to follow. He did not like how this felt, like he was being passed along to an army like a prisoner who hadn't even realized he was being captured, but Bofur's arms snaked around him in a hug and he pressed a kiss to the back of Bilbo's neck and the moment passed.

Glancing back at Bofur's smile, Bilbo couldn't really believe him of ill intentions.

The bats flanked their group into the camp, where they were passed off into the care of a pair of foxes and a lynx. The camp was bustling with activity, with music drifting from one tent or another. There were animals of many types, shaggy cattle who spoke, beautiful egrets, squirrels and hedgehogs and weasels. There were fauns and dryads and tall brown people crowned in living rushes that Bofur whispered were naiads, water spirits.

Nearly everyone was naked. Oh, there were delightfully embroidered vests here and there, the occasional person wearing a loin cloth or pants, and some of the more military folk wore breastplates of armor; but it truly seemed as though clothing was an option rather than an expectation. With so many people already dressed in fur (or in the cases of the naiads entirely smooth and featureless in the down below) it made sense that clothes would never have caught on as more than fashion in Narnia.

Two bears guarded the door to the castle tent, armored and fierce. "Welcome," the larger said, nodding deeply to Bifur. "She has been expecting you."

Bilbo didn't have any time to get nervous about meeting this famed witch before he was swept through into the tent. He'd expected a hag, a witch from a story. Maybe on the outside the slightly less reviled wise woman, old and wrinkled but essentially kindly.

A golden centaur stood glowing in a pillar of light, like the most powerful of draft horses married to a beautiful giant. The centaur's long blond hair was a thick mane flowing down their back, decorated with a braid here and there, their ears horselike without looking comical. Regal was the only word Bilbo could think of to describe them. It should not have been possible, but the centaur's body fit together in perfect harmony just as Bofur's goat legs did not look out of place on him.

"Lady Dis," Bifur greeted, bowing low. Bofur bowed with him, and Bilbo did his best to bow with his crutch. Their (her?) body was as naked as so many Narnians seemed to prefer, but her chest was perfectly smooth, lacking even nipples. Those were probably taken care of more in the horse way.

"Two nights running the stars have danced change." Lady Dis' voice was faraway but resonant, like trumpets on a distant hill, and pulled Bilbo's mind away from his runaway thoughts. "You are human?"

"Yes ma'am." Bilbo nodded. It was impossible not to answer with her eyes on him. "Bilbo Baggins of England. I am not sure how I got to Narnia, but here I am."

"You must be weary." Lady Dis gestured, and for the first time Bilbo noticed the court around her, just a few creatures standing around her. A naiad came forward with a pitcher while a mole moved chairs into place, and Bilbo soon found himself comfortably seated drinking water as rich and heady as wine with Bifur and Bofur to either side of him. Lady Dis lowered herself carefully to the floor, folding her legs beneath herself, but even so she still towered.

"Do you know the prophecy, Bilbo?" Lady Dis asked.

"Only what Bofur's family told me," he answered. "The stranger's hand from a foreign land, that's all I know. But I don't... I only want to get home. Please."

Bofur flinched slightly at Bilbo's words, but Bilbo ruthlessly crushed the twinge of guilt at that. This was not his world or his battle.

"To the point," Lady Dis mused, shifting slightly. "My world is dying, Bilbo. The ice king's corruption sinks in deeper every day. It takes all my strength to hold this last valley against him."

That was not Bilbo's problem, and though he said nothing maybe she saw it in the press of his lips against the words.

"He takes the heart of people." Lady Dis' voice had gone distant again. "A touch of his hand, and a shard of ice grows through their chest, erupts through their skin, steals everything they are or could be and turns them into mindless creatures to his service."

Bilbo shuddered at the awful thought, and saw the spark of hope in Lady Dis' expression. "I heard he was a centaur," Bilbo said, to turn the tide back the other direction and maybe buy some time to think. "That he had minotaurs serving him." His eyes flicked to the tall-horned minotaur standing behind Lady Dis, axes crossed behind his back and arms crossed in front of of his broad chest. "Are you..." Bilbo could not quite bring himself to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. This was royal infighting, a power struggle for the kingdom. It must be. England had seen its fair share of that; Bilbo did know his history, and a bloody history it was.

"Any name the ice king once held, any bonds of family or loyalty he had, he has sacrificed to the ice." There was pain in Lady Dis' voice, and she looked away from Bilbo. The minotaur shifted behind her, hands flexing like he wanted a weapon in them. Lady Dis held out a hand, gesturing him to calm, and he relaxed. It might have been intended to avoid threatening Bilbo, to make him feel safe, but that display of power had the opposite effect.

Lady Dis did not seem to have noticed. She turned her head up to the sunlight again, eyes closed. "The prophecy was danced in the stars, and I read it there. ' _A stranger's hand to bear the fruit, no earthly kind has given root, from foreign lands will break the curse, the lover's heart will winter burst_.' The ice king knows it as well as I; will have seen the stars sing of your coming just as I have. You must stand to counter him, Bilbo Baggins."

"Excuse me? No." Bilbo struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his crutch. His hands were sweating, heart jittery in his chest. "I did my part. I gave until they couldn't wring another drop out of me." Between the shellshock that twisted his mind and the leg that couldn't hold him anymore, Bilbo was no use to any army. He'd been discharged. Honorably discharged.

"I am no use to you." Bilbo continued, words tumbling over each other. "I have had enough of war, thank you. More than enough. I don't know anything about prophecies. What fruit? And lover to someone I've never even met? A Centaur?" Bilbo couldn't help the panicked laughter as he gestured from her size and then to himself. It was absolutely preposterous. At least when he was fighting the Germans nobody was asking anyone to _fuck the Prussian emperor_ to end the war.

"It is allegorical, not literal," Lady Dis promised, tone soothing. "I would not send you alone. Dwalin and Nori," she gestured to the minotaur and a very sharp and intense looking pale person to his side. "They are my most trusted operatives, and uniquely resistant to the ice king's corruption. No one is asking you to do anything repugnant... but you cannot deny that you have a lot of love inside you." Lady Dis smiled slightly, eyes falling to the way Bofur and Bifur had stood to bracket Bilbo, Bofur's arm around him in support. Bilbo had pressed himself against Bofur's solid chest for comfort without even thinking about it.

"No." Bilbo shoved Bofur away from him hard. "No. I have had enough of war _you can't make me_." He gasped, biting his lips to keep the panicked shout inside. This was how it went in fairy stories, wasn't it? A boy fell into a magic land and saved it, through great trial and hardship, but those were just stories and Bilbo _couldn't_. He didn't have anything left to give. Bilbo turned away from Lady Dis, from Bofur's pained concern, from all the faces looking at him.

Bilbo couldn't run, but he could move pretty quickly with his crutch if he wanted to. He stumped his way back out of the tent, away from the center of the camp. Just escaping from everyone.

He couldn't go far. He ended up on the bank of a little stream that was too big a barrier to contemplate crossing on his own. The grass beside it was soft and springy to sit on, and the sun was warm. The pleasantness of the day utterly at odds with how Bilbo felt. He wrapped his arms tight around himself, rocking slightly as he tried to breathe.

No one had chased him, or seemed to be watching him, at least. There were wide fields to the other side of the stream, some cultivated into gardens and others filled with grass. Rows of fruit and nut trees marked the boundaries. Young creatures, children, played here and there in them.

And then, beyond the valley floor, white. Snow covering the entire world. A wicked king suffocating the land in ice, turning people into his slaves. Freezing out their hearts.

There were a pair of centaurs playing in one of the grass fields, young bushy-tailed foals. One a deep chestnut nearly black, the other as gold as Lady Dis. Bilbo would not be surprised if they were hers. They laughed as they chased and wrestled.

A trio of a faunling, a hedgehog, and a squirrel ran past upstream, carrying baskets and laughing as they sprang across the stream to disappear into the trees. Berry picking and taunting each other that _they_ were going to fill their basket first.

Just children. Children playing as though there was not a care in the world while the ice crept around them.

"Bilbo?" Bofur was hesitant, discomfort in the shift of his hooves, his brow all wrinkled with worry and his flute turning in his hands. Bofur who'd looked after Bilbo so carefully since he showed up lost and terrified in this world. The thought of Bofur's kind heart frozen in ice was too painful to bear.

Bilbo closed his eyes, wiping the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve as he shook his head. Admitting defeat.

"I'll do it. I'll _try_."


	7. Second Wave - for all of Narnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bofur speaks with Lady Dis and must make a terrible choice.

Bilbo pushed Bofur away with a whimper in his throat and terror plain on his face, limping heavily out of the tent as quickly as he could, and Bofur turned back to Lady Dis—watching him go.

"Oh dear," she said mildly.

"Bilbo's right, your Highness," Bofur said, bowing to her. "We can't ask this. It isn't Bilbo's fight. The poor thing's already so hurt by war..." Bilbo was brave but broken, both inside and out, and had only ever expressed a desire to return home. It wasn't right to ask Bilbo to fight for them.

"The stone cracks beneath the crushing root," Bifur added, nodding his agreement.

"Stranger's hand from foreign land." Lady Dis closed her eyes again. She looked exhausted, lying in the sunlight to gather strength against the ice. "We have no choice. Bilbo Baggins is the human we have, and so Bilbo Baggins it must be. Or all of Narnia will die in this Fell Winter."

Bofur knew that. He knew the stakes. "Bilbo _isn't_ human, though." Bofur felt like a traitor both to Bilbo and Narnia for saying it, but he'd grown sure of it the past few days. "Bilbo even understands Bifur in the old speech... and last night Bilbo _spoke_ it. That's magic."

The whole pavilion went silent at that, and Lady Dis opened her eyes. They truly focused on Bofur for the first time, bright bronze opening up his soul to see into all of him. It was all Bofur could do not to squirm. "Now, empath, tell me what you think this Bilbo is, if not human," she demanded.

"Take away the strange clothes, what would you think you were seeing?" Bofur asked. "A dryad, young and badly weathered."

"True," Lady Dis answered, thoughtful, as murmurs traveled around the space. "And yet the stars sing of change. Magic is mostly in the believing, and Bilbo _believes_ themself to be human." Her gaze fell to the flute at Bofur's belt. "You could make sure Bilbo does not doubt it. There is bravery beneath the fear, and you have the power to coax it out. Bilbo trusts you, do they not?"

"It's not right," Bofur's fingers closed around his flute, clenching tight on his focus. Mirra had asked the same of him and it felt just as wrong from royalty as it did family. "I couldn't do that, make Bilbo fight."

"Only for a short time." Lady Dis' voice was like honey, thick and soothing. "Less than a week. Are the lives of all Narnians worth less than that?"

The lives of every last soul in Narnia, everyone Bofur had ever known and loved, against the pain of one injured person. It was an awful mathematics. Bofur could feel tears in his eyes, and his legs faltered under him. He sat down hard, turning to bury his face in Bifur's black and white fur, arms tight around his solid form.

Bifur rumbled, deep and soothing. "Not alone," he said. "The Bilbo creature is brave. You and I will protect and guard every step of the way."

"Nori and Dwalin as well," Lady Dis reminded. "An efreet to burn away the ice, and the strongest of minotaurs to take on any challenge. The stars do not lie in their dance. The time is _now_ , and now it must be done, or all will fall into ice and despair. A thousand years of snow."

A thousand years, or Bofur with his flute could change Bilbo's mind and put an end to it in a week. It wasn't fair to ask, and there was no other choice.

"The lover's heart," Lady Dis murmured when Bofur raised his head. The witch knew his answer before he even gave it. Bofur nodded, head hanging as he took his flute into his hands. Lady Dis nodded back, regal even in exhaustion. "All of Narnia depends on you, brave Bofur. Take Bilbo to Oin in the pond, perhaps xe can offer healing to ease the road," Lady Dis instructed. "Then you must go with all speed to Cair Paravel, glittering on the sea, heart of the storm."

Bofur bowed, chest aching, and left the royal pavilion in search of Bilbo. He wasn't hard to find. A question here and there in the summer camp, and he was aimed to the outskirts were Bilbo had fled. Bilbo was seated on the edge of the stream, gazing out over the few green fields and the endless snow beyond.

Bilbo's face, turning up toward Bofur's, was the most miserable thing he'd ever seen. Tears rolled down Bilbo's round cheeks, eyes ancient in their pain, entire body shaking.

"I'll do it," Bilbo said, wiping at the tears that didn't seem likely to stop any time soon. "I'll try."

Brave little Bilbo, all that fear and all that pain, and Bilbo was still willing to face war to save their world. Bofur dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around Bilbo tight, and Bilbo turned to sob against Bofur's scarf.

Bofur held Bilbo, rocked gently back and forth for comfort, and hummed a tune bravery and comfort. The magic wasn't as strong as playing his flute, but Bilbo was beautifully receptive to it. Bilbo's tears dried up, and there was color again in Bilbo's cheeks when they drew apart, though the poor thing still looked terribly grim.

Bifur was waiting a little ways off, and Bofur offered Bilbo a hand up from the streambank.

"Let's go see Oin, the healer. That'll fix you right up!" Bofur suggested, with his best smile. Bilbo nodded, slinging an arm around Bofur for support instead of relying on the crutch. Bifur fell in at Bilbo's other side, and together they made their slow and careful way back into the witch's camp.


	8. Second Wave - no earthly kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which yet more layers are revealed, and we finally get some answers.

"I grow weary," Lady Dis said, once she'd sent Bofur and Bifur out after the Bilbo creature. "Leave me. Everyone, please, save Nori and Dwalin. We must confer."

Dwalin had turned away along with Nori to obey, but drew back to Lady Dis' side when she named them. He was cold and weary in his bones, especially after their long journey, but he would not disobey her. Even though it meant there would be no rest for himself or Nori until spring returned to Narnia or death found them.

"Well, that's a pretty bit of luck," Nori said, grinning sharp and bright. "The distraction taken care of for us, right when we needed it."

"Fate smiles upon us," Lady Dis answered, nodding. "You have them?"

Nori nodded. He held his hand out, and drew forth what he'd hidden within his flame. Four sparks, almost too bright to look upon. Fire berries from the mountains of the sun, stolen from the beaks of birds who flew between. They burned, and Dwalin's body curled toward the painful heat.

"Four," Lady Dis said. "The fruits of no earthy kind."

"We'll get no more of them this way," Nori said. "The birds are too canny. Surprised we could steal this many, to be honest."

"It will be enough." Lady Dis held her hand out over the berries, like she ached to touch and feared them just as much. "One for your strength, one for mine, one to crack the Arkenstone, and the final for... for _him_."

"Could... kill him," Dwalin managed to get the words together to say. Speaking his own thoughts was so hard these days. His tongue felt cold and slow. He rubbed the freezing center of his chest with a hand whose fingers never warmed.

"More than the ice is killing him already?" Nori challenged, hard and sharp, but he softened when Dwalin turned his face away. He insinuated his slender body into Dwalin's arms, radiating warmth enough to share.

Lady Dis picked up a walnut shell. She held it out to Nori, and he put a single berry inside, before drawing the rest of them back into his fire. Lady Dis sealed the shell with a word and tied it into her hair, hidden in the thick flowing mane down her back.

"You must take Bilbo Baggins to Cair Paravel following the river. The naiads of the rushes will inform him of your coming. The army I will bring secretly along the curve of the mountains. On the third day I will eat the fire berry, and break the winter's hold. He will capture you all for the human he thinks is the culprit."

"And then we'll be inside." Nori chuckled. "His frosty Majesty won't know what hit him!" He ignored Dwalin's grumble at the disrespect.

"Between Bilbo Baggins and the army's attack, it should buy you enough time," Lady Dis said. "Narnia depends on you."

"I... obey," Dwalin managed.

"I'm as sick of the bloody winter as anyone," Nori agreed brightly. "Be nice to have some summer heat, won't it. Plenty of things to burn then!"

Lady Dis made a dismissive gesture, slumping in her exhaustion, and Dwalin pulled Nori out of the tent to give her the space she needed to gather strength for the coming battle.

They all had their roles to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wording of the prophecy, for anyone who's forgotten:  
> "A stranger's hand to bear the fruit, no earthly kind has given root, from foreign lands will break the curse, the lover's heart will winter burst."


	9. Chapter Five - the healer in the pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets Oin, and there is a misunderstanding

Bofur always helped. Bilbo couldn't feel anything but safe wrapped up tight in his wiry arms. With Bofur at his side, Bilbo could be brave.

Bilbo had been brave for his buddies before. All brave for each other as they marched into the fire to die. Britain's finest, nothing but cannon fodder. Carnage on the red fields, and for what? For generals far away to play number games with lives.

And here Bilbo went, limping back into the fray because otherwise an entire world would die. He clung tight to Bofur's wiry strength, crushing his face against Bofur's faintly-goaty skin as though that was enough to keep the monsters at bay. Bofur pet Bilbo's curls, stroked his back, and hummed comfortingly to him. He kissed the last of the tears from Bilbo's cheeks when Bilbo finally felt brave enough to sit back from him, kissed his lips and cradled his face between his hands.

"Oh my beauty," he breathed, almost like he wanted to cry too. "Oh Bilbo."

"Well," Bilbo said, composing himself. You just had to carry on, no matter what. "What needs to be done now?"

Bofur stood, and Bilbo gratefully accepted his hand up. He smiled, so sweet and sad that Bilbo's heart ached. He almost wanted to start crying again, just looking at it.

"Let's go see Oin the healer," Bofur said. "That'll fix you right up!"

Bilbo put his arm around Bofur, wanting to be closer than using his crutch, and allowed himself to be led back into the camp. Bifur had been waiting nearby, Bilbo didn't know for how long, and he followed along at Bilbo's other side.

"I'll deal with supplies," Bifur promised in a growl. "We'll look after you, Bilbo."

"I know you will," Bilbo said, resting his hand on Bifur's furry shoulder. "And I'll do... I'll do what I can. I still don't know _what_ exactly I'm supposed to do that the rest of you can't."

"We'll figure it out, together," Bofur promised.

Bilbo expected a medical tent, full of the dead and dying, but Oin the healer turned out to be a naiad in a sun-warmed pond, instead. They... or maybe he?... was sitting cross-legged on the surface of the water at the center of the pond, skin as brown as the bottom of the pond, and hair like water in a flowing mane and beard.

It was a clear pond, with rushes growing around it, and more than a few creatures were already going for a swim. Bofur didn't have to press Bilbo very hard at all to get him to strip down and climb in for a swim. Bilbo hadn't gone skinny dipping since he was a child, with his Took cousins. Oh, what lovely summers they'd had, forest children as fae as the fairy blood they claimed. Swimming was easier than walking—Bilbo's three working limbs could make up for the bad one a bit. The water was lovely, warm and soothing. Bilbo could already feel the tight ache in his arm and shoulders from using the crutch easing. They took a lap around the pond, and Bilbo already felt gloriously refreshed when Bofur herded him toward the center to talk to Oin.

"Oin, Oin!" Bofur spoke loudly, and splashed Oin with a handful of water, which absorbed into Oin's body with a faint ripple. Oin's eyes finally opened, and the healer looked down at them both. "Lady Dis needs you to look at Bilbo!" Bofur all but shouted.

"Go sit on the rocks, then," Oin said, a bit loudly, and then splashed to disappear into the pond like a bucket of water dropped in. Bilbo gasped his surprise, and Bofur laughed. His hand stroked down Bilbo's back, and his deep brown eyes were twinkling so Bilbo very much wanted to kiss him. Narnians seemed particularly free with their affections, but right in the middle of the camp and the middle of the pond wasn't likely the best place to get frisky. Bofur struck out for a few rocks set into one side of the pond, and Bilbo followed. They made a comfortable seat, and Bilbo was submerged enough to preserve his modesty.

Not that Narnians had much use for the concept of modesty.

A wave started in the middle of the pond, growing until it was Oin emerging like Neptune from the sea. Bilbo was almost surprised Oin didn't have a trident.

"What have we, then?" Oin asked, peering intently at Bilbo. Oin did speak very much like a deafening gentleman.

"My leg," Bilbo said, indicating it. He had shrapnel scars here and there on the rest of his body, even a few bullet holes, but the leg was the worst of it. It had broken in half a dozen places, in the blast, and Bilbo knew he was lucky he'd kept it at all.

Oin rested a hand over Bilbo's heart first, nodding as if satisfied a moment later, then checked both Bilbo's hands before moving on to his legs. Oin's touch was cool and clinical, and Bilbo turned his face away and allowed it. He'd gotten more than used to the prodding of nurses and doctors.

Oin hummed curiously, hands resting over the tangled scars that made up Bilbo's thigh. Oin's hands were coldcold _cold_ , and then _burning hot_ , and then a wash of relief settled through the muscles from the hip all the way down to Bilbo's toes.

"There," Oin said, nodding and dusting their hands off. "That should help. My recommendation is that you root for a full season and put a layer of fresh growth over the damage. As soon as the winter breaks."

"I... excuse me!?" Bilbo gasped, affronted. "Root? Put on fresh growth? As though I were a... a tree? I'm sorry, but humans can't exactly do that. This is the body I have now, and it's never going to heal better than this."

Oh, he'd dreamed it plenty of times. Dreamed that he'd wake up and be whole again, but that's all it was. Dreams. When he woke up, he was always going to be in this body. He'd fought in the great war, and he'd paid for it—a far lower price than so many.

Bilbo pushed Oin away and struggled out of the pond to limp toward where he'd left his clothes, momentary good mood utterly spoiled. Bofur shook himself like a dog and followed with his fur fluffed out in all directions. Bilbo was glad of Bofur's offered arm, of his support while Bilbo got back into his clothes. Bilbo picked the crutch up, glad to take the weight off his bad leg again.

"Well, that was pointless." Bilbo said. "Let's see how Bifur's doing with the supplies, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also there is Art by the ever-wonderful Val:  
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/143351244473/bofur-the-faun-bilbo-the-human-and-bifur-the


	10. Chapter Six - Onwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group expands, and heads downstream

Say what you would about the witch's strange camp, they were well organized. Bilbo was impressed. The quartermaster was a big matronly fauness who flirted shamelessly with Bifur as she made sure they had all the supplies they needed. Bilbo was given one of the light spears used by the flying foxes. It worked well as a walking stick to go in the hand opposite his crutch, and the business end would come in handy as a weapon with more range than the knife he'd already been armed with. His satchel was topped up with food he could eat marching.

Bifur was armed with a much bigger spear, very wicked on the end. Bofur remained unarmed, as did the pale person—Nori. Nori seemed to do all the talking for Dwalin the minotaur. Dwalin gave Bilbo the chills. He looked Bilbo over with ice-chip-blue eyes, shook his horned head with a snort, and subsequently ignored him. Being so much larger than the rest of them he carried by far the biggest pack. Nori, despite being of a size with Bofur, carried nothing at all.

Their group were evaluated, supplied, and pointed off downstream quick enough to make Bilbo's head spin.

"I still don't know what I'm supposed to _do_ ," Bilbo said, as Bifur took up the lead, followed closely by Dwalin and then Nori. Bofur took up the rear, right behind Bilbo. "You're all obviously very competent. I fail to see what _I_ could do that you can't."

"Well, you're human," Nori said. "You just need to get to Cair Paravel on the sea. The rest'll sort itself out." Nori had the kind of face that always looked like it was trying not to laugh at you, but that was just Nori's face. Bilbo _hoped_ that was just the way Nori's face was.

It seemed Bilbo had his marching orders, and that was all he was going to have. And wasn't that uncomfortably familiar.

Bilbo threw one last longing look back toward the witch's bright camp, buzzing like a beehive with activity, and then their group passed back into the endless snow.

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you?" Bilbo asked Nori. "You look very nearly human yourself. You're not dryad or naiad, I can tell that much." Nori didn't look like anything else Bilbo had seen in Narnia so far. Nori was all pale-white with orange hair in ragged peaks and a pair of loose orange pants. If it was fall, Bilbo might think Nori was a dryad in full color, but it wasn't. It was winter in most of Narnia and full summer in the witch's camp—and Nori had no twigs either.

Nori laughed. "What fun would telling you be? You'll figure it out."

That unsatisfying answer was all Nori would give, Bilbo had enough to think of just keeping his balance and continuing on. His rest in Lady Dis' camp, brief as it had been, seemed to have done Bilbo good. His leg throbbed less than usual. Maybe Oin's healing _had_ helped, even if the healer did seem to be under the impression that Bilbo was a dryad. Who could say?

Bifur chose their paths carefully, and kept the pace easy. Bofur, as always, had stories to tell about the land as they went. Nori joined him, laughing and teasing. All in all, it could have been a worse trek, even though some part of Bilbo ached to go back to the warm green of the witch's camp, and a bit more of him ached to go home to England. Back to his mother's garden, where she'd raised him up on hard work and stories of magic. All about the fairy blood in their ancestry and grand adventures his fore-bearers had taken. She'd smile at him over a garden bed they were weeding and weave a story about a shovelful of earth stolen from fairyland to seed his several-times-great grandmother's garden, and claim she'd stolen a shovelful from _it_ to seed this very garden they worked themselves.

But those were just stories. Bilbo was in something much more real than a fairy tale now. His adventure was turning out to be a good bit more uncomfortable than his mother's stories.

As the sun set and a chill breeze stole away the last of the warmth, Bifur found a sheltered spot for their camp. Dwalin gathered up fallen branches and snapped them apart with his bare hands, and Nori lit the fire—a big cheerful blaze.

"Um... should we really be this visible?" Bilbo asked. "Surely the fire's light will carry." He didn't like being a target for enemy snipers or mortar fire. Thought there weren't any of those here, of course. Of course.

"Nori and Dwalin are Lady Dis' best," Bofur said, slinging an arm around Bilbo's shoulders so Bilbo could lean his weight into him. "I wouldn't do it, but I'm sure they wouldn't put us in any danger. And Nori needs the fire, it does him good."

"So... Nori's a he?" Bilbo asked in a whisper. It seemed a terribly rude thing not to be able to tell of someone, but everything was so very different here in Narnia. "And what _is_ he, anyway?"

Bofur laughed, like it was the smallest and most inconsequential thing. "Aye, Nori's a he, but more than that you'll have to figure out on your own!" His eyes were twinkling, playing the same joke Nori was, and he laughed again when Bilbo elbowed him. He touched Bilbo's cheek, rubbed his thumb across the dimple that gave away the smile Bilbo was fighting, and really the only thing to do then was to kiss him. It was just a brief peck, short and sweet, and when Bilbo glanced around afterward it didn't seem that Nori or Dwalin had noticed—or if they had, they didn't see it as worthy of comment.

Bilbo gave Bofur one more kiss, then limped over to help Bifur with dinner. Dwalin had been carrying a large pot, and barley and beans, which went into it along with a great deal of snow to make soup.

Bofur was setting up the camping spots, shoveling out windbreaks and laying out bedrolls. Nori wafted around camp, getting in the way and occasionally poking at the fire. Dwalin, once his part of gathering the firewood was done, went to stand toward the outside of the camp, looking downriver. He was still, as horribly still as a statue out on the edge of camp.

Bilbo should probably try to get over the way Dwalin made his skin crawl. Maybe it was that he was part man and part beast? But Bofur didn't make Bilbo feel that way at all, though Bofur wasn't much larger than Bilbo was anyway. Lady Dis hadn't made him so uncomfortable either, and she was even bigger than Dwalin, though slightly less tall. There was no real explanation for how Bilbo felt, and he tried to shake the feeling off. It didn't do anyone any favors to be mistrusting his own unit. A unit without unity was no good.

The soup was soon done. It was simple, but warm and filling. Just the thing for a cold winter's night. Nori took Dwalin's hand and led him back to the fire to eat. Everyone had a big bowl of soup, and Dwalin got the whole rest of the pot, because he was so big. He ate mechanically, not seeming to taste it at all.

"So, Dwalin, Nori..." Bilbo tried. "I hear you're Lady Dis' best? But nobody has told me exactly what it is you _do_."

Dwalin ignored Bilbo completely, and Bilbo wasn't sure if he was grateful of that or hurt by it. Nori was more communicative. "Gathering information. Passing messages. That kind of thing," he said lightly. "You'd be surprised how much information even a small army needs to keep track of."

"Oh, I know," Bilbo said, utterly heartfelt. "Information is where wars are lost and won." God knew it wasn't the poor grunts dying on the front lines who were winning. It was the generals who knew what was going on, and the rest just given their marching orders. Just like this. "I wish I knew what's going on," Bilbo said, and only after it came out did he realize it had been aloud. Bilbo ducked, feeling his face heat. "I mean, I _was_ told the prophecy and all. I'm not completely in the dark."

"Prophecies are clearest in retrospect," Bifur growled, licking his bowl clean.

"Right!" Bofur agreed brightly, rubbing Bilbo's back through his down coat. "You might think you know what they mean, but it's only really clear after the fact. All we know right now, is that we need the stranger's hand from foreign land, and that's _you._ We get you to Cair Paravel, and it'll all come clear. And we'll be with you, every step of the way."

That was a bit flattering, and Bilbo squirmed and turned his attention to the last of the soup in his bowl, embarrassed.

"Winter... must break," Dwalin said. They were the first words Bilbo had heard him say, and they sounded thick, as though even stringing them together was terribly difficult. Maybe minotaurs, for all their obvious strength, weren't really much smarter than regular cattle? But all of the other animals of Narnia seemed as clever as humans.

Nori drew Bilbo's surprised gaze away from Dwalin, leaning forward as pale and intense as a flame. "Narnia needs your help, Bilbo. You're from another world, and maybe that itself will be enough to break the ice king's hold on Narnia. Magic is finicky stuff. I wouldn't be surprised if you started to disrupt it, the closer we get to the center. You'll save us all, just by being here. Just because _you_ were brave enough to agree to help us."

Bilbo could feel his face going as red as a beet. He felt terribly brave and important, and also a bit silly. He coughed slightly, patting his coat's pockets as though he might find a cigarette or a pipe in there, but of course he had none.

Nori laughed, but not in a mean way, and Bofur planted a whiskery kiss on Bilbo's cheek, and the moment passed. Still, Bilbo's mood had lightened.

They had a long way to go in the morning, so Bifur sent them all off to bed as soon as supper was over and cleaned up.

The stars were gloriously bright overhead, far closer than they'd ever looked in England. Looking up at them in the dark, Bilbo could believe that centaurs could read prophesies in them. Bofur had made a very comfortable bedroll for himself and Bilbo, and they were very cozy in it. And if a part of that coziness came from quiet kisses and gentle stroking hands in the sort of activity that never failed to warm a body from toe to tip, that was nobody's business but their own.

 

The next day was, as Bifur had promised, a long one. They followed the river downstream, uphill and down as more little rivers joined it and it grew wider and wider, a broad flat ribbon of white snow occasionally showing green through where the wind had swept the snow away.

Bilbo limped along, trying gamely to keep up, but it was hard. His poor armpit was chafed to no end, and by the end of it Bilbo was surprised his bad leg didn't just collapse under him at every step. Bofur offered his shoulder now and again to help Bilbo along, and Bifur called breaks to let Bilbo gather strength here and there in sheltered spots, but even that could only do so much.

The time Nori asked Dwalin to give Bilbo a hand up a particularly steep hill and the minotaur had picked Bilbo up like a barrel under his arm and carried him along for a ways—completely deaf to Bilbo's stammering protests—was far too embarrassing to bear thinking of.

Most of the day Bilbo struggled along on his own. He kept his eyes on the trail in front of him. Bifur's neat little badger footprints were joined by Dwalin's broader feet, and Nori's almost-human bare footprints.

They were very odd, Nori's footprints. They were as deep as Dwalin's, though he was obviously much lighter, and shiny. As though he was of water after all, or the snow had melted in contact with his skin. It was very strange indeed, and Bilbo still had no idea what Nori was.

Musing on it at least kept Bilbo occupied until it was finally time to camp again. Bilbo was more than grateful for the chance to sit down, wrapped up tight in his coat and a blanket to keep warm. The ache from using the crutch extended all the way up his neck and down to his toes on the one side, and the ache of his bad leg was a steady throb on the other. Bilbo was absolutely exhausted, but even so he noticed that Dwalin did not seem... _right_. When they stopped, he just _stopped_. He didn't take off his pack or look around at what they were doing or respond to anything until Nori came and told him to, and then led him around the nearby trees in search of downed branches. He picked up what Nori told him to pick up, broke what Nori told him to break, and nothing else.

It was distinctly unnerving.

"I say is... is Dwalin all right?" Bilbo asked in a whisper to Bifur, when he was nearby.

Bifur shook his stripey head, whuffling sadly. "He has lasted so long, and will last longer. Nori will take care him."

"Don't you worry about them," Bofur added. "Nori knows what he's about."

Despite Bifur and Bofur's reassurances, Nori didn't seem to be in any hurry to help Dwalin at all. They had a dinner of campfire beans again, this time served with dark bread, then Bofur passed around his little flask of berry cordial again and it was bed time. Bilbo begged a second sip of the warming liquor and cuddled against Bofur's furry belly to try to sleep.

Dwalin was standing out at the edge of camp again, looking downriver. One broad hand slowly lifted up and rubbed the center of his chest where his axe harnesses crossed—the first voluntary motion Bilbo had seen him take in many hours. Meanwhile Nori perched very near the fire, colors matched to the flames as he slowly fed small pieces of wood into it to make it bigger.

Bilbo was nearly asleep—almost certain he was dreaming—when Nori stood and took Dwalin's hand and led him back to sit by the fire. He straddled Dwalin's broad lap, fingers carding through the thick fur along his jaw.

"It's bad?" Nori asked, pressing a palm to Dwalin's chest. Dwalin answered in just a groan, the first sound Bilbo had heard him make all day. He leaned forward until his broad head rested against Nori's chest—horns bracketing his body. Nori purred something soft, soothing, rubbing at Dwalin's back, and began to burn.

Nori's was not a bright flame. At first Bilbo did not realize what he was seeing. Nori _burned_ , what had seemed like skin and hair and clothes began moving in slow-licking flames, a low crackle. Bilbo's first panicked worry for Dwalin's safety seemed immediately unfounded, Dwalin did not seem to be singed. He moaned rough in his throat, pushing his forehead harder against Nori.

"There," Nori murmured. His long clever flame fingers flicked open the harness across Dwalin's broad chest. Dwalin was only exposed for an instant before Nori's hand covered it, but long enough for Bilbo to see sharp ice white crystals. There was nothing else they could have been, and Bilbo's immediate thought horrified thought was the stories they'd told him of the ice king. His touch taking the hearts of people—ice spreading from Dwalin's heart. Bilbo gasped in through his nose, and Bofur's hand reached up and turned his face away.

"That's private," Bofur whispered. His deep brown eyes were very close to Bilbo, warm breath smelling like sweet herbs and grasses. "Rude to watch."

"Dwalin has ice," Bilbo murmured, horror crawling down his spine. Their group was already infiltrated by the enemy...

"Aye," Bofur answered sadly. "He does. He's strong to last so long. Nori's fire holds it back. He can't cure it, but he helps."

Dwalin groaned again, and Nori whispered something that sounded like the crackling of the fire. Bilbo might have turned to see, but Bofur's hand was still in the way. Bofur stroked his cheek, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Bilbo's.

"Sleep now my little tree, you need rest," Bofur whispered. He hummed a tune, soft and quiet in the cold of the night—and Bilbo fell into dreamless sleep before the second measure.


	11. Second Wave - burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is painful smut

Nori sat straddling Dwalin's lap, and the burn of his fire bringing Dwalin back to life hurt far worse than the slow ache of the ice spread. The ice was deadening, a brief hurt as it spread. The fire pushing it back brought it all back to life.

Dwalin pushed his forehead against Nori's chest, rubbed up and down to scratch the base of his horns against the burn of Nori's skin. The painful-hot love of an efreet helped Dwalin survive his love for his King. Nori rested one hand on Dwalin's back, the other on his chest, and burned his heart back to life. Dwalin pushed against Nori, distracted himself from the agony of it, and Nori pushed back against him. His slender body squirmed between the constriction of Dwalin's horns.

"There, there you go, love," Nori crooned, breathless. "Just a little more."

Dwalin flexed his freezing hands and managed to lift them, settling them on Nori's slender hips. They stung, pins and needles as Nori's heat seared into them, forced the cold out. It hurt. Stars above, it hurt like Dwalin's entire body was plunged into boiling water, and a red-hot poker through his chest to hold him in place.

He groaned, the sound rumbling up from the bottom of his hooves. He shook his head, horns pressing Nori from side to side. Tears fell from his closed eyes, running down his snout to sizzle on Nori's skin where they finally touched him.

Nori moaned, body arching into him. His breath caught, fire flaring briefly hotter, when Dwalin's hands squeezed on his hips. Nori was so small Dwalin's fingers could very nearly meet around the widest part of his hips, so small Dwalin could throw him into the fire to burn himself out _there_ instead with only the slightest effort. Could, but wouldn't.

Everything was fire, everything was pain, and Dwalin would accept it.

"You're doing so good, love," Nori crooned. "You're so good. Just a little longer. Hold on a little longer for me."

Dwalin was good. Dwalin was being good for Nori, and he could take the fire. He could take in everything Nori gave him. Dwalin's tears didn't stop, the pain didn't stop, but it diffused, sank deeper through his body. Only his frozen heart and the fire hands that cradled it were sharper. The rest of it was everywhere, and the only thing to do was surrender.

A small rough sob worked its way out of Dwalin's warming throat, and the air he pulled into his lungs to replace it was hot with fire-tang. Dwalin gasped out his sobs, mouth hanging open, and scratched the base of his horns against Nori's fire. Nori moaned again, rutting his whole torso against Dwalin's head, and the smokey scent of efreet arousal worked its way into Dwalin's awakening nose.

Once noticed, it was unavoidable. Dwalin's nose and mouth were right above Nori's groin. His mouth watered, even as his body burned and the tears rolled down his snout.

Dwalin's cold tongue unstuck itself from the top of his mouth and slowly quested outward. It found its mark, the soft juncture of Nori's legs, painful heat and soft flickering flames. Nori made a soft little cry.

"Yes, Dwalin, so good," Nori whimpered. "So good."

Dwalin could be good for him. He could sink into all the fire Nori could give him, could bury his thick tongue in the searing heat of Nori's sex, taste his flame, and drag his tongue slowly back out, curling it just _so_ to rub the little bump of Nori's cock the entire way. Over and over again, until the flames dripped from Dwalin's mouth, until Nori's slender body arched back and he shook through with a high whine. His climax burst on Dwalin's tongue like live coals, and he swallowed it down. It burned all the way, settling simmering in Dwalin's belly.

The pain was fading, now. Nori's hands were gentle, soft flames carding through the thick fur at the back of Dwalin's neck and pushing back just slightly on his shoulder. Dwalin sat up. He felt... new. Warm. His entire body glowed, like he was alive. All but the tiniest corner of his heart, where the very first ice shard could not be banished.

Dwalin blinked the last of the tears from his eyes, flexing his hands and shoulders. He felt light as a feather, remade in life. Dwalin turned his head to put Nori in his vision. He looked wan, faded from spending so much of his fire for Dwalin, and Dwalin pulled his beloved efreet close to his chest as he reached out for the last of the gathered firewood, piling it onto the fire to renew his strength.

Nori purred and squirmed against Dwalin's pinning hand. Burning hot but no longer painful hands stroked Dwalin's cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, down his abdomen to the belt that held his loin cloth.

"Please," Nori begged. "Please."

"Yes," Dwalin agreed. Oh yes, he wanted. Nori's clever fingers made quick work of Dwalin's belt, teased his already half-hard cock to full height and then Nori wrapped his legs around Dwalin's waist and sank himself down on Dwalin's cock.

Everything was floating, now, easy and gentle and warm. Dwalin supported Nori with one hand, moving him up and down to a slow rhythm. Nori reached between them now and then, stroking his cock into climaxes that had the heat of his sex clenching down on Dwalin's cock. It felt like it lasted forever, like surely the dawn must be arriving any moment, and like it was just moments later when Dwalin's own orgasm stole up on him and he moved Nori off of his cock to spend.

Nori licked him clean, little flame tongue tickling on Dwalin's belly and cock. Then, wrapped in thick blankets together to stave off the creeping cold of the endless winter, and staying as close to the fire as they could, they slept with their bodies tangled up together.

It felt so good to be back from the ice, as painful as the process was. And that was just with a frozen heart.

...It was going to kill Thorin to come back from having given himself to the ice completely. The fire berry would kill him, and Dwalin was going to do it.

For Narnia, for his King, for the man Dwalin had loved most of his life—Dwalin would do it.

He could not abandon Thorin to the ice any more than he could abandon Narnia to it. Any more than he could abandon his own self to the ice that was even now beginning its slow deadening creep out from from the shard buried in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is art for this chapter by the ever-wonderful Sparkle!
> 
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/154440856683/


	12. Chapter Seven - words and wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo has some unfortunate ingrained cis-centric thinking. Also there are wolves.
> 
> Please be aware of the 'internalized transphobia' tag.

Dwalin was an entirely different creature the next morning. Bilbo woke up in the early morning twilight to the sound of two voices murmuring together far too quietly to make out the words, Nori's and one that was much deeper. Bilbo was understandably shocked when Dwalin clapped his big hands and called everyone awake. It was difficult to tell expression, his head being that of a bull, but he seemed to Bilbo to be smiling. His voice was certainly cheerful.

"Rise up, Bifur, sniff us out the way! Up Bilbo and Bofur, no more lying abed kissing!"

Bilbo might have protested that no kissing was happening, frightened of being caught in bed with another man, but he was too startled by the change in Dwalin's demeanor to string any two thoughts together. Bofur laughed and gave Bilbo a kiss to prove him wrong anyway, and then helped him get up.

The same dark bread of the night before, this time spread thick with nut butter, was served for breakfast along with a handful of wrinkled winter apples whose juices had thickened so they tasted nearly as sweet as syrup. Dwalin held his in one hand while he wandered through camp helping pack up.

He seemed alert, alive. He reached out toward Nori whenever Nori was in reach, stroking down his back or pulling him in to hug—once tossing Nori high up into the air like someone playing catch with a toddler, both of them laughing as Nori melted into liquid flames pouring down Dwalin's arms and chest and coalescing back into a humanlike shape hugging him.

It was strange and beautiful, and if it wasn't love then Bilbo didn't know what love was.

"We'd best cross the river today," Dwalin told Bifur, talking quietly to him of their planned routes. "You're holding strong, Bofur?" he asked, and was assured that Bofur had never been better.

Dwalin's eyes were different, a warm deep brown in utter contrast to the freezing blue of the days before, when he turned them on Bilbo. Dwalin rested one massive hand on Bilbo's shoulder, very lightly and gently. "This is not too difficult, Bilbo Baggins?" he asked, gaze dipping briefly to Bilbo's bad leg, which he'd been trying to massage some life into before they got going.

"I'll manage," Bilbo promised. He rolled his aching shoulder, trying to loosen that up too. "I've dealt with worse."

Dwalin looked concerned, but he drew his hand back from Bibo's shoulder. "You're small enough I could carry you," he offered.

"Thank you, but no," Bilbo answered quickly. He did not need a repeat of yesterday's embarrassment. "I'd rather make it on my own two feet, if I possibly can. Well—" He glanced down, smiling ruefully at his crutch. "My own feet and crutch."

Dwalin nodded. He looked away, as though he would leave, before he turned back to Bilbo. "Remember that... that I will not let you be harmed." Dwalin's voice was very quiet and very intense, enough to send a shiver of indistinct fear down Bilbo's spine.

Nori broke the moment, sidling up to Dwalin and patting Bilbo's cheek a bit condescendingly with a very-hot hand, face laughing as it always did. "We must keep our brave winter-breaker safe, to get Narnia back!" he said, and Bilbo's face heated in a way that had nothing to do with Nori's hand.

Dwalin just rumbled an indistinct sound, big-muscled arm reaching around Nori to pull him closer. Bilbo was glad their attention was away from him, and stumped his way over to Bofur. They were soon ready to go, and Bifur led the way with Dwalin behind him actually giving input for once.

"So, ah, you're a fire creature?" Bilbo asked Nori.

Nori laughed. "Efreet," he said. "Fire given life. Took you long enough to notice."

"I had no idea it was even possible," Bilbo defended. He probably ought to have put it together sooner, Lady Dis _had_ said that Nori was uniquely resistant to the ice corruption, but he thought he could be forgiven for it. "In my world there's no such thing. Only humans and dumb beasts. No dryads, no naiads, and no efreets."

"Sounds dull," Nori said, sounding bored, and danced forward to walk beside Dwalin instead of near Bilbo.

"Are there other elemental creatures?" Bilbo asked Bofur, who was as usual taking up the final space. "I've met fire and water, it could be argued that dryads are earth. Is there air?"

"Zephyrs," Bofur supplied. "Nope. Lots of scholars suggest they _should_ exist but nobody's ever found them."

"Air's not grounded enough," Nori suggested. "You've got to have substance to make a person."

"Or maybe they're shy," Dwalin suggested. "Or invisible."

Nori and Dwalin immediately got into an argument about the possibility of zephyrs, ignoring Bilbo entirely. Dwalin seemed to be one of those scholars who had studied the possibilities, which was surprising to Bilbo after how silent he'd been the first few days.

That was what the ice did to a person, took away what they _were_ , and Bilbo was more determined than ever to see the winter ended and the Ice King defeated. It just wasn't right.

"So I've been thinking," Bilbo spoke very quietly to Bofur, glad the others' conversation would cover for his. "How does fire have gender? Trees, most of them, are a bit of both and go by 'they', but how do we know that Nori's a man?"

Bofur shrugged. "He says he is, so he is," he said, as though it was that easy. "Some naiads are like that too."

"A pond or a river can't exactly have a _sex_ ," Bilbo argued. All the naiads he'd seen were completely smooth between the legs, with no features at all.

"If they say they do, then they do," Bofur repeated, like he was confused by this obvious fact. "Everyone is what they say they are. It's like refusing to believe someone's name when they tell you. That's rude, isn't it?" Bofur smiled at Bilbo, leaning closer. "Which reminds me, my beauty, you've been very secretive and haven't told any of us what _you_ are yet. So are you girl or boy, neither or both?"

Bilbo could feel his face heating, his heart jittering in his chest and his palms gone sweaty, as though he was floating away from his body. That was... that was _cruel_. Like schoolboys who'd laughed at Bilbo because he was rounder and softer. 'Pretty as a girl, so what are you _reeeeally_.' taunting Bilbo for being different, liking different things.

"I _say_..." Bilbo's voice squeaked a bit, hands clenching on his crutch and his spear, and he needed them both to stay upright just then or he might have dropped one to throw a punch right at Bofur's face on pure schoolboy survival instinct.

"Is that rude to ask in your England?" Bofur asked, face contrite. "Well I won't ask again."

"That isn't a funny joke," Bilbo managed, with a fair bit of venom. Bofur looked completely confused, which stiffened Bilbo's entire spine with anger. How could he talk like that? Like none of it mattered. There were men and women, and that's all there was. You were told what you were, and that's what you had to be. A boy, and then a man. Men studied and men worked and provided; and when there was a war men and boys marched off to die in it.

"I was a soldier," Bilbo spat. "I fought in the trenches on the front lines, and I all but died for it. I've got a..." Bilbo glanced downward, then back toward Bofur to hiss through his teeth. "You are _intimately acquainted_ with the fact that I've got a cock."

"Oh, aye, and a lovely cock it is too," Bofur agreed, still looking very confused. "And you're very brave... but that doesn't answer the question."

As though none of it mattered. As though Bofur would just as easily call Bilbo 'miss' as 'mister' or even 'mix' how Bilbo had heard a few of the dryads and naiads referred to. It wasn't that simple. There were only too choices, man and woman, and you had to fit into the one you were given. There was no place in the middle for those who didn't fit in. Bilbo could feel tears starting to prickle at the corners of his eyes, and shook them angrily off.

"Don't..." Bilbo leaned on his spear and roughly pushed Bofur away from himself with his crutch. "Don't you talk like that. Like... like there's a _choice_! You just have to fit what you're given!" The last bit had come out somewhere between a shout and a sob. It echoed through the silent snowbound woods, and only then did Bilbo notice that the rest of the company had gone silent as well.

Oh well done Bilbo, making a scene. He ducked his head down, resolutely limping forward with his crutch and spear and making no eye contact.

Luckily nobody said anything else to him on the subject. The company was subdued for a while, but then Bifur made a low-growled observation on the condition of the snow, and Nori answered with something on the condition of the trees, and the air eased. Bilbo did feel as though people were intentionally _not_ talking to him, but that was fine. He had his hands full keeping his balance and continuing walking. Not to mention Bofur's words swirling around and around his head. 'Everyone is what they say they are', and 'girl or boy, both or neither' as though every choice were as legitimate as the others. As though it _was_ a choice, like choosing between introducing himself as the simpler "Bill" and letting people assume he was named William or going for his full and uncommon name of "Bilbo".

It was absolutely preposterous... wasn't it?

With these very uncomfortable thoughts as company, and his steadily aching body, the day's hike was a long one. Bilbo was definitely developing some blisters on his hands, and he hoped the growing rash in his armpit from the crutch wasn't going to become infected. Those weren't much better thoughts, but at least they were more grounding.

Bifur chose a place where the river had widened into a pond, and the ice was covered in a thick layer of snow, to cross it. Bofur offered his arm to Bilbo to help him down the hill, but Bilbo thanked him rather stiffly and made his way down on his own. Not that his aching leg and shoulder thanked him for his pride.

The icy river was not overly slippery, at least. The snow provided enough grip on its surface to keep them from sliding around, and it was thick enough even Dwalin's prodigious weight did not make it creak. Still, Nori held on to Dwalin's arm very tight, with his face drawn and uncomfortable, the entire time they were on it.

Dwalin paused just for a moment in the very middle of the stream, looking downstream. "Cair Paravel," he said, catching Bilbo's attention and pointing.

There was a glimmer on a far hill, like crystals catching the light.

"A lovely sight, the grand castle at the mouth of the sea—what's left of it," Nori said, tone sharp and sarcastic. "Now let's get off the water."

"I do not like to be exposed," Bifur agreed, and they continued on. Now that the vulnerable openness of their position had been pointed out to Bilbo, he did not like it either. A chill crept down his spine, and any moment he felt like enemy mortars were about to begin firing. Every moment expecting the heavy pop of machine-gun fire. He knew it was ridiculous, but the feeling would not shake. Bilbo focused on the very Narnian outline of footprints in the snow, badger and minotaur and efreet, none of them booted like a soldier's. The air was crisp and cold and unmarred by the scent of blood or smoke or gunpowder.

At the far side there was a patch of ice where the wind had blown the snow away, thick and deep-green. They made their way across it cautiously. Bilbo, with his gaze turned downward, saw for an instant a face beneath it. A naiad, he thought, but with ice shards in their hair and their face twisted into a rictus of rage. Bilbo gasped, jerking back from it and very nearly loosing his balance in the process. Bofur was there immediately, catching Bilbo's arm to keep him on his feet.

"There was a face! In the water!" Bilbo said.

"Shit!" Bofur said, cheerfully.

"We have been seen," Bifur growled. "We must go, more quickly than ever. _He_ will know soon."

Bilbo gritted his teeth and nodded, though he was not sure he could. Well, that was nothing new. You kept going until you couldn't, and then you still kept on going. He'd done it before, and here he was doing it again because he couldn't turn his back on this whole beautiful and incomprehensible world. Bilbo relied on Bofur's balance to cross the clear patch of ice, then politely thanked him and forged on alone.

Bilbo tried to keep up, he really did, but there were no breaks to be had now, and they were moving far faster. His lungs burned with the exertion, his leg throbbing, the arm he held the crutch with aching so he could barely keep hold of it. Bilbo tried, but in the daze of exertion he could not keep his balance.

Only Dwalin's hand, grabbing Bilbo by the scruff of the neck to drag him to safety, saved him from taking a very nasty tumble down the hill. Bilbo hung from Dwalin's hand, dazed and trembling, until Nori told him to put Bilbo down. Bilbo didn't even have the energy to pick himself up from the snowdrift he'd been set on.

"A few moments, we can rest," Bifur judged, but he lifted his nose in the air, scenting it nervously all the while.

Nori hunkered down and leaned in very close to Bilbo, hair flickering slightly and his heat uncomfortable on Bilbo's already-flushed face. He didn't look like he was laughing, for once, and Bilbo was not sure at all that he liked the change. "You need to fix your problem with Bofur, before your pride gets us all caught," he said.

"I... I mean..." Bilbo drew away, uncomfortable. "Did you hear what he was saying? Really, where would we be if people could go around choosing if they were men or women or whatever willy-nilly?" It wasn't right. It couldn't possibly be that easy.

Nori stood up quickly. He folded his arms and leaned away from Bilbo, expression hard and cold, a tiny sneer on his lips when he looked down on Bilbo. And it was definitely _looking down on_ he was doing, there was no mistaking that look. "Whole," he said. "Happy and whole, that's where we'd be." He turned his back on Bilbo and climbed into Dwalin's arms, pointedly ignoring him.

As though it was Bilbo who had said something terribly offensive.

Bilbo looked around hopelessly, searching for some kind of guide, but Bifur was still scenting the air and Dwalin was cuddling Nori. Which left Bofur, who was sitting a little ways off with his shoulders a bit hunched in and not looking quite at Bilbo. He turned his flute in his fingers, over and over, fidgeting to soothe his nerves. He glanced up, nervous and a touch hopeful, when Bilbo reached toward him, hand open.

Bofur put his hand gently in Bilbo's, and Bilbo threaded their fingers together and tugged Bofur to sit beside him. Just letting himself be close to Bofur, Bilbo already felt better. He leaned his shoulder against Bofur's.

"Did I say something... rude?" Bilbo asked.

"Aye, you did," Bofur said immediately, though a bit sadly. "Or more hurtful than rude, really."

"The Bilbo is lost," Bifur added in his characteristic low growl, "Doesn't know better. Doesn't understand."

"Not understanding doesn't make it less wrong," Nori sniped. "Unknowing cruelty's still cruel."

"Then I apologize," Bilbo said, loud enough for everyone to hear. It still didn't make any sense, but he was clearly the odd one out. "I... I don't know what I'm doing here. Everything's so strange."

"That much is _obvious_ ," Nori shot back. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

So on they went. It was easier with Bofur's help, even if Bilbo was still terribly confused. It couldn't possibly be as easy as just picking what you wanted to be, regardless of what you were born as. Like... like picking out a neckerchief. It was one thing to have been a mama's boy as a child and learned to bake and garden, and pick wildflowers together to decorate her pretty brown curls and his own blond ones. Belladonna would laugh and tell Bungo there was no harm in letting him if his father ever grumbled about any of it.

Those were just childhood antics, but once you were grown there was a box you had to fit into. The other schoolboys were sure to point out your error if you put flowers in your hair on the walk to school, and the schoolmaster turn a blind eye if not turn you over his knee himself if you trespassed from the realm of masculinity. Men were one thing, and women another, all split into two and no in-between. Bilbo had a cock and so he was a man and must do as men do. So said God and society.

That's just the way it _was_.

Except here, in Narnia, where it seemed the very suggestion was considered cruel.

It made no sense.

Bilbo was pulled out of his spiraling thoughts by Bifur's sudden sharp bark of "Wolves!" With no more warning than that they were beset. The wolves were huge, terrible beasts, with wide slavering mouths and sharp white ice crystals growing down their shoulders and spines. The first, soaring downhill and throwing itself at Dwalin, was caught by its throat and tossed aside as though it weighed nothing. It hit a tree and was still. Another had flanked the group and was attacking from behind, but Bofur had his flute in his hands and played a tune both quick and terrible. The wolf stopped in its tracks, whining as it clawed at its ears, and in that moment a burst of flame from Nori's hand hit it in the chest. With a horrible scream, it fell down and was still.

The loss of two did not slow the rest of the wolves, half a dozen streaming down on them from uphill. Bifur was deadly with his spear, and along with Dwalin held the front line. Nori and Bofur flanked Bilbo, holding the rear guard.

Bilbo, more than anything, wished he had his bayonet.

Dwalin and Bifur had killed one more wolf each, and the final four broke from that attack, dividing and heading toward Bilbo from both sides. Nori threw fire at his, and Bofur danced as he played his flute. The two wolves on Bofur's side attacked each other, one killing the other in a single massive bite to its throat. Then, shaking its head against the shrill tune of Bofur's flute, it sprang clear over him and into Bilbo.

Bilbo screamed a wordless battle cry, dropping to his good knee to brace himself in the snow and swinging the light spear into position. The wolf impaled itself on the sharp point, it's terrible cold jaws snapping at Bilbo's head for just a moment, its nails scratching at his clothes, before his hand found the knife on his belt. And stabbing, stabbing Bilbo knew how to do. Through the enemy's thick fur coat into his belly, through his ribs, his throat. There was a wheezing and a bubbling, but Bilbo lacked the energy and the strength to heave the body off himself. The German soldier was bleeding out over him, and if it could not get free then the next to come over the top would surely kill him. Bilbo's bad leg was screaming with the effort, his arms shaking, but he was at his strength's end and he _could not_. The soldier was so much bigger and heavier than he was, and so horribly, horribly cold.

There was a shout, and then the body was lifted off of Bilbo. Bilbo had his knife up and ready, slashing out at the strangers surrounding him... but no, not strangers. Dwalin, cradling the dead soldier... dead _wolf_ in his big hands, Nori looking shaken, and Bofur with his flute to his lips this time playing a tune like the budding of springtime that wrapped around Bilbo like a rope and pulled him back into himself in the present.

"I'm... I'm here," Bilbo said. "I'm all right."

Bofur immediately stopped playing and dropped to his knees in the snow to gather Bilbo close in his arms. He was shaking. "I'm so sorry Bilbo," he was crooning. "I'm so sorry."

Bilbo held him back very tight. "Really, I'm fine," Bilbo promised. "I managed well enough. I could use a little help getting to my feet, though."

Bofur helped him to his feet, and kissed him, and Bilbo assured him that he really was unharmed before looking around at the rest of the group.

"Everyone's all right?" Bilbo asked, searching everyone out and relieved to see that the only blood anywhere was that of the wolves.

"Quite the little fighter, aren't you?" Nori commented, as Bofur helped Bilbo use some snow to clean what blood he could off his coat and hands. Whatever grudge Nori had been holding since Bilbo's unintentional offense seemed to have died in the battle as well. He was back to grinning at Bilbo, and Bilbo smiled back.

"Well, it's hardly the first time I've been pinned beneath a dead body," Bilbo said, gallows humor coming light and easy. When you were all going to die, what was there to do but laugh over it? "I must say it's far more pleasant when it's foe than friend."

Nori laughed, but Bofur made a hurt little sound and kissed Bilbo's cheek.

Dwalin lay the wolf Bilbo had killed in the snow, gently stroking its face and closing its eyes before going to the next and doing the same, and the next. Mourning them, with his breath coming out heavy and broken like sobs.

"He was a palace guard with them," Nori said quietly, noticing where Bilbo's attention had gone. "He'll... he'll be all right."

Bilbo felt like a bit of an ass for having joked, then. He nodded, and went back to making sure his body was still all in one piece and working while Nori went to be with Dwalin. Bifur, who had scrambled up to the top of the hill, came trundling back down it very quickly.

"Scouts," he said in his growling voice. "They sent a runner back before the rest attacked. We must move."

Bilbo had been afraid of that. He got his crutch back under his arm, and was given back his spear cleaned, and off they went again. For how many hours he could not tell, it was all quite a blur of exhaustion and pain. When even Bofur's best efforts could not keep Bilbo from falling back behind the rest, Nori asked Dwalin to give Bilbo his arm as well. Between Dwalin and Bofur, Bilbo stumbled along as best he could—halfway carried more than not, toward the end. The sun had been set for what felt like hours before they stopped for the night.

There was a small overhang of rock, providing some shelter, and they all piled up together to hide and rest. Bifur handed out oat cakes, and Bilbo was only halfway through his when he fell into a sleep that was more like a swoon—exhaustion finally dragging him down. It felt like only moments later when he was being shaken awake by Dwalin's big, cold hand.

"What?" Bilbo asked blearily.

Dwalin did not answer. His eyes glinted in the faint moonlight, as pale and cold as ice.


	13. Chapter Eight - storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the winter breaks

"We've been seen again," Bofur whispered at Bilbo's side, and Bilbo dragged his horrified eyes away from Dwalin to notice that the rest of the company were packing their things away, looking grim. "There was a tree up on the edge of the bluff when we made camp that's gone now."

"A dryad on _his_ side," Bilbo whispered back. There were spies on all sides, and the enemy was hunting them.

"We must continue, before the wolves find us," Bifur growled, low and intense. "We are near, now. Even ducking and dodging, we may reach the palace before nightfall."

"And then it's all up to Bilbo," Nori added, handing Bilbo his crutch.

Flattering as it was, Bilbo just wished he knew what on this earth or any other he was supposed to do once he got there. His whole body was stiff and frozen, his muscles locked up after pushing himself so far and so hard. His arm wouldn't cooperate to get the crutch under him again, and his legs collapsed under him with raw agony up his bad leg when he tried to get to his feet.

Bilbo bit his lips against the cry of pain that tried to escape his throat. They couldn't alert the enemy to their position. He needed to keep going. Needed to get up and keep walking, and he couldn't even stand. There didn't seem to be any morphine in Narnia at all.

Bofur's arms were around Bilbo, warmth and the illusion of safety as he tried to rub life into Bilbo's limbs.

"You'd best use your—" Nori mimed playing a flute, rather than finishing his sentence. "We could all use a pick me up. Dwalin, help Bilbo to his feet," he instructed.

Dwalin had gone still again, doing nothing he was not told. He immediately reached out and picked Bilbo up, setting him on his feet and supporting him until he got his crutch in place. Dwalin's hands were so cold.

It just wasn't _right_.

"Can't you do something for Dwalin?" Bilbo asked Nori. "Use your fire?"

"Takes too much time," Nori shook his head, looking up at Dwalin. "He'll pull through. Won't you, love?"

Dwalin nodded ponderously, and reached out to put his hand on Nori's shoulders as though his bones were nearly too heavy to lift.

Meanwhile Bofur had finished packing and began to play his flute, blowing very softly, so the notes were no louder than a whisper. It was a jaunty tune nonetheless, and sent warmth and vigor zipping through Bilbo's body. Bifur straightened up, flexing his solid limbs and settling his spear in his grip. Dwalin shook his tall-horned head with a huff of breath that was actually warm enough to fog in the cold winter air. Nori was grinning. A quick tune, and Bofur had them all ready to march. It seemed actually possible again.

After a whispered conference with Nori, Bifur took the lead again. Bilbo could _tell_ his armpit was raw from the crutch, chaffed to the point of bleeding and beyond, and the blisters on his hands broken open. He could tell that his bad leg was in agony under him. It just seemed like those things were happening somewhere very far away.

Bilbo ate a handful of dried fruits and nuts as he walked and felt like he could limp along forever and not mind it a bit.

The sun rose, bathing the world in first light and then _warmth_. Real warmth.

The snow began melting at a tremendous rate, and for a while they were all slipping and sliding on the slush and had to support each other. Then patches of green grass began to show through, growing every moment. Every moment more trees shook off their robes of snow and began throwing out tiny delicate green leaves. Snowdrops bloomed, right through the snow in some places, followed quickly by crocuses in others, and then all manner of other spring flowers.

Bilbo's poor bloodstained coat was soon discarded and folded up in the top of Dwalin's pack for safekeeping, hopefully never to be used again. Bilbo laughed aloud as pink petals from the flowering trees drifted down on them, so different from the snow they mimicked. Somewhere in the trees a bird began to chirp, another answered it in a chuckle, and then as if that had been the signal there was chattering and chirruping in every direction, and then in a moment full song, and the whole wood was ringing with birds' music. The earth underfoot was bouyant, alive with moss and grasses and living roots all stretching and growing.

"It's spring," Bilbo said, stretching his arms out to it as much as he could without tipping over. "Springtime in Narnia."

"I'd almost given up seeing the like again," Bofur said, and he leapt up on his light hooves and danced around Bilbo for sheer joy, so Bilbo just had to laugh again.

"I told you," Nori said, hair flickering up high and bright and his face laughing. "It's finicky stuff, magic. We got you close to the palace, and the winter's breaking. The stranger's hand from a foreign land." He took Bilbo's hand in both of his and kissed it, crackling and hot but not painful, and Bilbo laughed and gave a little half-bow with his own face very nearly as hot as Nori's was.

"It's really working!" Bilbo said. "Let's finish this!"

"The growing of spring covers our trail, and the flooding of the streams," Bifur growled. "They cannot track us now."

With that glorious bit of news, they all relaxed. All save Dwalin, gone so still as the ice I his heart took away what he _was_. Winter's hold had broken on the land, but it still lived on in the hearts of those the ice King had claimed. They needed to break it entirely, to set Dwalin and everyone else free.

More and more animals were waking from their hibernation as they walked, squirrels busily running up and down the trees, and shy foxes and the occasional dryad peeking at them from the bushes.

"Winter-breaker," Bilbo heard them murmur to each other, echoing Nori. The birds and the trees must have spread the word ahead of them, and and Bilbo smiled and nodded at those of them he could.

With the world full of green and growing things, the air perfumed with flowers and full of bird song, it really seemed as though all Bilbo would have to do was walk up to the palace for the ice King to fall.

Maybe it really was that easy. The stars had prophesied a human come to save Narnia, and here Bilbo was, and winter was breaking around him.

The sun shone down, the entire forest grew as though it had been waiting for an age and was trying to make up for lost time, and big spring clouds swept in over the horizon, a storm blowing in on the changed weather. The rain was warm and welcoming, but then with a flash and a rumble the shelling started.

"Take cover!" Bilbo screamed, as the first wave of the bombardment roared around them. They were far too exposed, away from the trenches and what limited protection they offered. He grabbed Bofur by the back of the neck and dragged him down with him—between a downed log and the trunk of a standing tree, the best cover he could see and it wasn't going to be enough. One good strike anywhere nearby and they were both dead.

Another burst overhead and Bilbo curled deeper into his hiding place. He knew how this went. Find the most sheltered spot you can, curl up as small as you can. Hands over your ears to block out the worst of it. Pray you make it out the other side of the barrage alive, or that you die fast otherwise. Blood spattered, warm trickling over Bilbo's head, from friends killed in the artillery fire that burst and rumbled overhead.

Not blood, rain, a tiny voice somewhere in the back of his mind argued. Not shelling, just a thunderstorm.

There were screams and curses echoing between the bangs. The earth spoiled with blood and he would never be able to wash the feel of it out of his skin.

"Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here." An endless prayer into an uncaring world, too horrible to bear.

"Here," a voice answered, warm and quiet singing just to him. "Be here. Be safe. Be rooted in the rich earth, deep enough to weather any storm. Drink deep the clean rain water. Take your fill of the warm sunlight. Supple sway against the tossing of the wind, flexible enough to bend and rise again unbroken. Strong enough to grow back from any damage."

There was an endless time of calm, of peace deeper than Bilbo had ever known. Far away the storm raged on, but there was no terror in it. It could not hurt him. And then, a moment or a decade later when the storm passed on and the world was all rich with rain and deep sun, Bofur's voice pulled Bilbo back, singing low and quiet.

"Bilbo Baggins of England, come to Narnia to break the winter and save us all, know yourself as human. Come back and finish what you began. Know where you are, and who you are. Know yourself, Bilbo Baggins."

It wasn't truly words though, the song. It was sound and _ideas_ , truth and meaning without words, like how Bifur spoke.

Know yourself. It was unavoidable. Bilbo was human. Bilbo was a soldier, and a broken one. He'd gone to war, and he'd killed, and he'd loved, and he'd watched the men he loved die, and he'd come home broken both body and mind. Bilbo was all he had been made to be in England. He and he and, _he_ again—but that wasn't who Bilbo really was, was it? Not deep in the truest depths of Bilbo's heart, where it was cherished and safe and shown to the world never.

Are you boy or girl, neither or both? Like choosing a neckerchief. That easy, and that impossible.

Bilbo curled into Bofur, clung tight to his wiry strength, pressed his face into the beloved goaty scent of his furry skin. When he opened his mouth the truth of himself fell out of it in the same wordless language, like a sob that tore itself out of the bottom of his soul.

"They told me I was a boy, and boys grow up to be men and men must march off to war and fight. And men must never be pretty and men must never cry and men must marry women and become fathers some day. They told me to be a boy and a man and a soldier, and I did, but I didn't want to. I never wanted to be _any_ of those things!"

"Oh my Bilbo," Bofur crooned in words this time, holding Bilbo close, rocking back and forth to offer comfort. "My beauty, my little hawthorn bush. What do you _want_ to be, then?"

That easy. Looking up at Bofur, his warm brown eyes so worried, and his honest craggy face framed by his swoopy horns and long floppy ears to remind Bilbo that he most certainly was not in England any longer, it was almost easy to answer. "Not a boy, not entirely. Not entirely a girl, either. Something of both, balanced in the middle between."

"Then so you are," Bofur said, like it was the most natural thing. Bilbo sniffled and wiped his eyes with his own sleeve, to spare Bofur's scarf. It was going to become entirely crusted with salt if Bilbo kept crying on it so much. "And what shall I call you?" Bofur asked, rubbing a warm circle on Bilbo's back. "They? Sie? Xe? Any and all options changed at random?"

Bilbo laughed and leaned up to kiss him, lovely nibbling kisses from Bofur's mouth. His kisses were every bit as sweet as his words. "I think... he?" Bilbo asked. "I wouldn't know what to do with the other options? But you and I... you and I, we'll _know_." He kissed Bofur again, feeling his face heat and then heat more when he remembered and realized that the rest of the company was nearby—though thankfully not watching or appearing to listen in. He nuzzled his face into Bofur's downy-soft ear, to whisper just to him. "Could I be... could I be _mix_ Baggins, though, rather than mr or miss?" Bilbo shivered deliciously at the thought.

"Of course, mx Baggins." Bofur murmured back, and nipped Bilbo's ear in a way that made him gasp and wiggle all over.

"All right, all right. You're just canoodling over there now," Nori broke the moment, before it could go anywhere fun. "You're back with us, Bilbo?"

"Yes, thank you," Bilbo said, untangling himself from Bofur and finding his way to his feet. He felt _lighter_ , somehow, fresh rested and brand new. Also he'd somehow lost his shoes; they were nowhere to be seen when he looked around. At least the ground was soft and springy with moss and grasses beneath his bare feet. "I do apologize for the inconvenience. I thought I was back at the front, for a moment."

Bifur trundled over, sniffing Bilbo up and down and seeming pleased. Bilbo stroked his stripey head, and Bifur made a rough purring kind of sound and leaned into him. Bilbo was glad of the badger's sturdy shoulders to catch his weight when he suddenly realized he was without his crutch and had to take his weight off his bad leg. It still ached something awful, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before the storm.

"Not far now," Bifur rumbled. "You are strong to continue."

"Yes," Bilbo agreed. "Yes I am." And what a glorious feeling that was. Bofur handed Bilbo his crutch, but Bilbo slung his arm around Bofur's shoulders instead. "Lead on!" He decreed, smiling around at the whole company. "I trust you will all see me safely to journey's end."


	14. Second Wave - too cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur ponders the situation

It was too cruel to bear.

It was necessary, Bofur _knew_ it was necessary, but it was too cruel.

Narnia needed Bilbo. That much was obvious, with the endless winter breaking around them. Bilbo's pain must be balanced against the lives of _all_ Narnians, and Bofur hated that he had to be the one to do that. Bofur had to push Bilbo, who never complained, out to the ragged edges of Bilbo's endurance. Bofur had to play a tune to push Bilbo beyond that limit, when Bilbo's broken body was screaming for rest and they still had a long ways to go.

When a thunderstorm awakened horror too awful to bear in Bilbo's mind, it was Bofur who had to draw Bilbo back. He did it the only way he knew how, and sang Bilbo through the first rooting.

How could anyone miss Bilbo's strengthening and brightening as spring swept the winter away? Bilbo's sap quickened and strengthened, and if Bofur were a true friend he would have told Bilbo, helped Bilbo claim the strength of the trees. Instead, Bofur cradled Bilbo close and sang the first rooting only when Bilbo was lost in remembered horror and could not understand. Bilbo's roots grew down, fast and strong, dragging shoes beneath the ground in their hurry. Bilbo's branches grew up, twisted and thorny. Hawthorn. Of course Bilbo would be hawthorn, with a touch of prickly temper and a solid core.

And then, cruelest of cruelties, when the storm was over and before Bilbo could bloom, Bofur severed Bilbo from that knowledge. "Know yourself as human," Bofur sang, in the old tongue where there could be no lies but that did not mean there had to be truth. Narnia needed a human, and someone of another world who believed themself to be human was the best they had and was _working_.

Bilbo unrooted, unbranched, and the sweet little green twigs that had begun to grow from Bilbo's head withered and dropped away. That grounding earth connection broken.

"Know yourself," Bofur sang. And with an empath's song and the old tongue, Bilbo could not help the knowledge of his truth. All save the last truth of the trees.

Even that was cruel, though Bofur hadn't intended it to be. It opened the sealed box in Bilbo's chest and pain, old and aching, sobbed from Bilbo's mouth in the old tongue. Forced to be what Bilbo was not for an entire lifetime. Sent off to a war Bilbo did not want to fight.

And here Bofur, Bilbo's lover and supposed friend, was making Bilbo march into another war.

Maybe the only kindness Bofur could give to balance it, was to be sure Bilbo was named and treated as he wished to be. At least the bursting life of the magical springtime meant Bilbo had gotten a full day's worth of rest and growth in the half hour he was in his his true dryad form, healing at least a little of the exhaustion and damage he'd sustained in their long march.

Bilbo was wonderfully cheerful, after having rooted, even if Bofur's song meant he could not know why that was. Left to his own devices, Bofur didn't doubt that Bilbo would be singing and dancing and making love as any dryad in springtime was wont to do. He was certainly eyeing Bofur with a fair amount of interest, licking his sweet pink lips or occasionally biting the bottom one. A lovely time it would be, too. The springtime revels, full of excited dryads and fauns, were things of beauty. If only Bofur had Bilbo safe and sound back in the western wastes, where he had no doubt Bombur and Mirra were doing their best to increase the family yet again in the springtime weather! Sun and rich earth for the dryads, all the best foods and drink for the fauns and others.

But if Bilbo weren't traveling to Cair Paravel to face down the ice king, then there wouldn't be a springtime to celebrate at all.

"No morose thoughts, Bofur!" Bilbo chided, nudging closer to him with a smile that invited kisses and maybe a good deal more than kisses, but Bofur resisted. "Say, I've been wondering, since I'm to be one, how does one write mx as a title?"

"Well em ex of course, just like it sounds," Bofur answered, glad for the interruption. "Though truthfully most just write down an x to save time."

"Oh? I thought for certain there would be an 'i' in the middle. Mix, similar to miss," Bilbo said.

"I doubt anyone would give you grief for it if you wrote yours that way," Bofur said agreeably. "If you're mix with an 'i' then that's your choice."

Bilbo laughed nervously. "I don't think I'd want to be the only one doing that? I mean..." He looked around at the brilliant budding forest, gestured widely with the spear in his hand. "I'm in Narnia now. I'm not the only person who isn't one or another, anymore. I can be one of many, not..." Bilbo's voice went a bit quiet, sad. "...not alone."

"You're not alone," Bofur promised him, and then he did break down and kiss him when the happy brilliance of Bilbo's smile was blinding. He couldn't help it. Bilbo, the minx, tossed his spear aside and tangled his legs between Bofur's, knocking them both down into the soft grass. He moaned deliciously, arching up against Bofur. There were tiny buds unfurling in his hair, the potent springtime calling to his dryad nature. Bofur hummed him human, kissing hot and desperate as he ran his fingers through Bilbo's curls to brush them all away.

"Oy, we've lost our winter-breaker. The faun is assaulting him in the grasses," Nori called out, and Bifur laughed as he called a halt.

Bilbo gasped, frightened for a second, before he laughed and pushed Bofur off him. "Excuse you! Assault implies it was not _enthusiastically_ mutual," Bilbo shot back, as Bofur gave him a hand up. His eyes were a bit wide, but he relaxed all the way when Nori just laughed.

Such a sad world, Bilbo's England, where there was no magic and only men and women and no love allowed between men.

"Not far now," Bifur promised. "Cair Paravel is near. When the ice king is defeated, you can roll in the grasses all day."

"Well, that's something to look forward to," Bilbo said, and slung his arm back around Bofur's shoulders to continue on.

"Not long," Nori echoed Bifur. He looked very bright and intense, his fingers jumping nervously as his eyes darted here and there. "Not long at all."

"We only need to find a safe ford, then up the hill to the castle," Bifur agreed. Nori shuddered at the thought of crossing the water, but there was no helping it.

"Onward, then!" Bilbo decreed, and on they went.


	15. Chapter Nine - distraction

Bilbo was not sure he'd ever been so distractingly aroused since he was a teen. It was certainly not the time for it, but he felt as though Narnia's springtime was flowing up through his bare feet and filling him to brimming with energy. Even the steady throb of his bad leg and the ache of the rest of him was soothed, he was so full of life. And life was wont to burst and make more of itself, though in Bilbo the instinct was inverted and drawn to masculinity like Bofur's instead.

It wasn't even just his cock that was interested. That wasn't even hard, which at least made walking easier. No, it was the entire rest of Bilbo's body that wanted. His nipples all but ached from just the familiar brushing of his shirt. Little shivers were running up and down his spine, ears and neck tingling at the brush of Bofur's arm or (oh most delicious) the warm puff of his breath. Even the sunlight shining down from the bright blue sky felt like a lover's caress across Bilbo's body.

When Bofur kissed him, Bilbo's lips were so hungry he felt like he could get off from that alone. Unfortunately he didn't have the time to discover if that was possible, before the rest of the group noticed that he and Bofur had fallen behind and called them on again.

Bilbo tried, very hard, to keep his mind on the mission at hand. They were marching right up to the enemy's castle, following a spring-flooded stream to find a safe ford, but Bilbo could not long keep his mind to military matters. Before he knew it he was sizing Bofur up from the corner of his eye again. His lips were still so tender, and Bilbo worried at the bottom one with his teeth. He enjoyed sucking cock at the best of times, but with his mouth feeling like _this_ surely he could get off from just that sensation. He still hadn't sucked Bofur's cock yet, and Bofur was naked, his cock already bare. Convenient, that. Bilbo wondered if it would taste different than a human cock.

Maybe if they nipped behind a tree, just for a moment, the others wouldn't notice for long enough to give it a try. Bilbo could push Bofur against the trunk of the tree and drop to his knees right in front of him (so great was his arousal in the moment that he didn't even stop to wonder if his bad leg would allow this). If that wasn't enough on its own, Bilbo could roll his own nipples between his fingers and he just _knew_ that would be enough, especially if Bofur could be convinced to pet and stroke Bilbo's hair at the same time.

Bilbo shivered through at the thought, and began to keep an eye out for a likely tree to hide behind.

Perhaps if Bilbo hadn't been so distracted with his own arousal and Bofur's closeness, he would have noticed sooner that something was wrong, but even _Nori_ didn't realize until too late.

None of them had been able to hear the approaching enemy, over the sound of the rushing stream. Bifur barked out a warning at the head of the group with no time to spare. The water stilled, two naiads with ice floes in their flowing hair opening a passage for a dozen ice-corrupted wolves and minotaurs—the jagged shards of ice that pierced them were utterly incongruous in the bright green of springtime.

Bilbo braced himself on his good leg and his crutch, spear at the ready. Bofur fumbled for his flute. Nori's hands were full of fire. Bifur snarled, spear at the ready.

They might have won again, even so horribly outnumbered. They would certainly have put up a good fight, if they'd been given a chance.

Nori threw his first ball of fire, narrowly missing the closest of the minotaurs, when Dwalin grabbed him by the waist in one big hand and flung him into the stream. Nori's scream was high and horrible, his fire all snuffed out and completely at the mercy of the naiads who mobbed him, dragging him under.

Before any of them could react, before Bofur could bring his flute up to his mouth, Dwalin struck again, a heavy blow to Bofur's chest sending him sprawling, to be pounced on by the howling wolves.

Ice. Ice was crawling up Dwalin's chest from his heart, freezing in a line up his throat. Bilbo lashed out with his spear, but Dwalin caught it in his hand, tossing it aside and seizing Bilbo to lift him aloft and shake him like a terrier might a rat. The knife Bilbo tried to draw fell from his fumbling hand. There was nothing in Dwalin's ice-blue eyes, no sanity or understanding, and the whimpered scream of terror was frozen in Bilbo's throat.

"Bind the traitors!" Dwalin bellowed, voice thick and cold. With no backup, Bifur was quickly subdued—Bilbo's last chance at rescue, but of course even Bifur could not win against so many. Nori was dragged unconscious from the water, drenched and shaking. Bofur shoved to his feet and gagged, so he could not even speak. "Take them to the dungeons," Dwalin ordered. " _This_ one will I will take to answer to His Majesty myself."

"We obey, Captain," the lead wolf answered, bowing it's head to Dwalin.


	16. Chapter Ten - the end  ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the quest comes to a conclusion, of a sort.

After everything, Bilbo ended up carried to Cair Paravel after all. His hands were tied behind his back, and Dwalin carried him under his arm like so much baggage. Disconnected from the ground, Bilbo felt weak again. Exhausted and aching. Still he squirmed, slamming his good knee into Dwalin's kidney a few times, and getting his teeth into Dwalin's chilly forearm. He ground his teeth down until he tasted blood, but a sharp blow upside the head knocked him loose. Dwalin did not react, otherwise, as though he couldn't even feel pain.

"I trusted you!" Bilbo spat. "Lady Dis trusted you. _Nori_ trusted you, how could you do this to him?" Nori was draped over another Minotaur's shoulder, as loose and boneless as a damp rag, as though he hadn't even the energy to shiver anymore. "He loves you, and you've killed him!"

"I serve the true King," Dwalin said, eyes fixed firmly ahead.

Bofur, bound and gagged and led on by a rope around his neck, had tears in his deep brown eyes when he looked up at Bilbo, but his captor yanked his rope to keep him from looking at Bilbo much.

"We must save our strength," Bifur growled, bound much the same way Bofur was.

"Your strength will serve the King," one of the wolves answered, and Bilbo screamed and kicked and bit again. It was too awful, too awful to think of kind Bifur and Bofur turned into horrible ice beasts like the wolves and minotaurs who held them captive.

Fighting did Bilbo no good, and neither did cursing at Dwalin.

It was not far to the castle of the ice king, though whether that was good luck or ill Bilbo didn't know. Bifur had gotten them so close, with his cautious wandering paths, and it was all for nothing. Walking directly up to the castle took less than an hour.

The castle itself was astonishing—what little of it Bilbo could see from his place under Dwalin's arm. Massive spires of ice speared glittering into the sky, unmelting in the bright spring sunlight. It might have been beautiful, if it did not mar the earth it sat on with the killing frost creeping out from its walls. The castle was built on a foundation of frost-rimed stone, and once through the ice portcullis, the company split apart. Bifur and Bofur and Nori were taken one direction, a stone passage downward to what must be the dungeons. Dwalin carried Bilbo the other way, to a wide courtyard that was very nearly closed in overhead with vaulted ice spears. It was dotted here and there with statues...

No, not statues. People. Narnian creatures of all stripes, bound or unbound, screaming in fear or anger or cowering or standing in grim defiance—all frozen solid and crusted in ice.

Bilbo was unceremoniously dropped to the floor while he was still absorbing the horror of all those poor frozen people, killed. Realizing that this must surely be his own fate. He landed poorly on the freezing paving stones, all the air knocked out of him and spiderwebs of pain shooting through his whole body from his bad leg.

Dwalin took to one knee, bowing his head deeply with a hand over his frozen heart.

Only then did Bilbo realize that the person at the end of the courtyard was not frozen the same as the others. The centaur was bigger even than Lady Dis and as white as snow in both skin and hair, bits of ice clinging to him to turn his outline sharp and angular. Cradled in his hands was something like an egg, but glittering like moonlight on frost. Bilbo, already shivering from the cold of the castle, shuddered anew just looking at it.

There was a long moment before the ice King turned his face away from the egg, toward Dwalin. His eyes matched Dwalin's freezing blue, deep as glaciers, the seam of his mouth as bright red as blood in sharp contrast to his pallor. His nose and mouth were very much the same shape as Lady Dis' were.

"My captain," he said. "Speak. What have you brought me."

"The one they call winter-breaker, your Majesty. A human."

The king gestured, and a spear of ice grew from the egg thing, turning it into the jewel atop a scepter. "This little creature?" The King sneered. "This pathetic thing is the danger the stars dance warning of? Do you think to weaken my winter, weaken my soldiers, and leave us all defenseless?"

Bilbo, who had by now caught his breath back, rolled carefully to the side, and then, cautious of his bad leg and hindered by his bound hands, got his legs underneath him and struggled his way to his feet.

The paving stones stung against Bilbo's bare toes, and his bad leg was shaking as it struggled to hold him, but if he was to become one of the frozen statues, then he preferred to go standing as tall as he could.

"Do you really believe that?" Bilbo asked. His hands were sweating, trembling, and he was almost glad they were tied behind him so it wouldn't show. "Do you think that your winter is _protecting_ the land of Narnia?"

"The stars sang danger. I will do all I can to guard my kingdom, with any power at my hand," the King answered, the egg-jewel flashing, and the flash echoed in his eyes.

"And did it ever occur to you that you yourself are the one endangering it?" Bilbo demanded. If it was possible to talk sense into the mad King, he had to. If not he was dead, and Bifur and Bofur doomed to servitude with ice in their hearts. Maybe this was what Bilbo was supposed to do, to fulfill the prophecy. "Look at your kingdom. _Look_ at what you did to it, suffocated under the snow, and the _life_ that flourishes now your winter's broken."

The King wavered, for just an instant, before the egg flashed again. "Silence!" he roared. "You dare lecture your King!?" He lifted the scepter, swinging the jewel down toward Bilbo. Bilbo let his bad leg collapse under him, dropping and rolling out of the way as a spark of light jumped out of the jewel, leaving a spiderweb of frost on the floor.

The King turned, stepping toward Bilbo as if his entire body was stiff and moved by clockworks, strange and horrible. He lifted his scepter again, and Bilbo was utterly helpless sprawled on the icy paving stones now. He cringed, feet scrabbling at the paving stones as he tried to push himself _away_ from the horrible stone.

A horn sounded, like a bugle but richer, echoing loud and clear from outside the castle, and Bilbo felt his hope leap in his chest though he did not know why.

"What is this?" the King demanded. "What enemy have you led to my kingdom? You will die, 'winterbreaker', and your body decorate the walls of my fortress as warning!" Shards of ice grew from the head of the scepter, so it was a spiked mace now. He swung it down at Bilbo to crush him. Bilbo threw his arm up to block it, cringing away, but the killing blow never landed. A great many things seemed to be happening at once, when his eyes shot open again.

Dwalin had leapt up, catching the mace in his mighty hands as if to wrestle it from the King's grasp. There was a burst of light, like a second sun blazing to life above the heart of the castle, and there was great roaring from outside, like a vast army shouting all at once.

"Betrayer!" The King struck out at Dwalin with his forehooves, but Dwalin fought like a creature possessed. Sparks of light shot from the jewel, striking Dwalin in the chest and face, but the ice flaked away from his furry skin without harming him. In a moment he had the jewel out of the King's grasp, and flung it directly upward through the opening in the middle of the courtyard.

The second sun intercepted it, and there was a burst like a bomb overhead.

The King screamed, collapsing to the ground with Dwalin's arms wrapped tight around his human half. The ice ribs that nearly encased the courtyard burst into a flurry of snow, melting in the air to mist and rainbows, and Lady Dis vaulted over the walls in a blaze of fire and glory followed by a great wave of armored animals.

"Thorin! Thorin, no!" Dwalin was crying, cradling the unconscious King in his arms, and Nori fell from the sky (for the second sun turned out to be him, burning far brighter than Bilbo had ever seen him before). He threw himself to his knees at Dwalin's side. There was something like a bright glowing coal in his fingers for a moment, and he pushed it between the king's frosted lips.

The frozen people who had littered the courtyard were shaking themselves now, the ice falling away and all clamoring and exclaiming and milling about and being herded by Lady Dis' soldiers.

 

As for Bilbo, he was pushed out of the way and lost in the shuffle—unneeded, and forgotten entirely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, folks, for reading!
> 
> If you are confused, please be aware of the "fanfic as performance art" tag, and join me on Friday when I will begin posting the second wave chapters--bits of the story from the POV's of characters who know much more than Bilbo does.
> 
> I thank you for your indulgence,  
> <3  
> TS


	17. Second Wave - the battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what in the heck was really going on during the battle

The hardest thing Nori ever did was let Dwalin throw him into the water.

It had to happen. The only way into the castle was as a prisoner, and in the castle was where they needed to be. The winter couldn't be broken otherwise. Bifur was great, got them a lot closer than Nori had originally thought they'd make it, but the last bit had to be done as a prisoner. And the only way Nori would ever be taken prisoner, the only way the King's ice minions would trust an efreet in the castle, was if he was extinguished.

It was the most horrible feeling in the entire world. Powerless, dragged under by the naiads to drown.

If Nori didn't have three fire berries from the mountains of the sun hidden in the flames of his heart to sustain him, he might very well have died. As it was, he was mostly unconscious most of the way to the castle. He was vaguely aware of being draped over a broad shoulder, and of hearing Bilbo cursing and shouting. Only when Nori had dried off was he warm enough to be aware of what was happening, and he was _very_ careful not to warm up on the outside to tip off the minotaur carrying him.

The stranger's hand must carry the fruit of a foreign land in to the castle, so that the lover's heart—Dwalin—could burst the winter. It must be done, no matter the cost.

Nori was taken down to the dungeon, while Dwalin took their handy distraction off to the throne room to keep Thorin occupied. Poor brave Bilbo. As for Nori, the dungeon was the perfect place for him. He could burn his way up through the entire palace on his way out, that way.

Not that he _seemed_ capable of burning his way out. Nori wasn't even strong enough to lift his own hands to be chained to the wall, head lolling on his loose neck.

Bofur made an indistinct sound of concern around his gag in the next cell over.

"He still lives," Bifur answered in a growl, from the cell in front of Nori's. "How, I do not know. We will... we will find a way."

They were worried, both of them. They didn't know any more than necessary. Nori hung in his chains, extinguished body thin and limp, and waited.

Lady Dis' army must have been close, and her spies quick to report back. They weren't in the dungeon very long at all before the sound of her horn echoed clear down into the dungeon.

It was time.

Nori chuckled, igniting a tiny spark on the residual heat of the fire berries hidden within him—enough to move one to his hand. His chains had just enough slack that he could bring his fingers to his mouth. He crushed the berry with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, swallowing its juices down, and he _burned_.

He was hotter and brighter than he'd ever been. Laughter poured from his throat. The shackles melted from his wrists, the stone he leaned against cracked in the heat. Nori lifted his arms above his head to form himself into an arrow that shot straight upwards. He broke a small hole through the stone of the original castle, and shattered the ice towers Thorin had constructed above. This, the epicenter of the ice corruption power, melted and broke away from Nori's fire.

Lady Dis might bring the power of springtime, but Nori was fire, and ice stood no chance against him.

Far below, in the courtyard of the throne room, Dwalin was wrestling with Thorin for the arkenstone. Of all those Thorin had turned with ice since the arkenstone corrupted him, only Dwalin loved him enough that he could disobey his orders. Dwalin was already turned, and so immune to the arkenstone's power when Thorin attacked him with it. Only Dwalin was strong enough to take it from him, and just as they'd hoped, Dwalin managed it. He did not even need Lady Dis' backup, the army that was now rushing up the hill to subdue Thorin's shocked and disorganized guard.

Dwalin flung the arkenstone upward, and Nori sped downward to catch it.

It hurt. Oh, it hurt to touch, but there was nothing in Nori it could freeze no matter how hard it tried. He _was_ flame, and he wrapped the heat of his fire all the way around it and crushed the second fire berry right into its freezing surface.

A stone, moving too quickly from cold to hot, shatters.

The arkenstone was no exception.

The burst of its cold power, escaping all at once, blasted through Nori with the power of a hurricane wind. His flame guttered, flickered as the heat was torn from him. Just like being drowned in the river, but Nori still had a fire berry in his heart and he was still fueled by all the power of the sun itself. He reignited hotter than ever.

Nori was laughing as Lady Dis hurdled into the courtyard, breaking with finesse what lingering ice power remained—and Nori carried the final berry down to finish the job.

Plan and prophecy fulfilled.

The only thing they didn't know now was if Thorin would survive it.

 

Thorin collapsed when the arkenstone burst. Dwalin caught him, lowered him to the floor as gently as it was possible.

The ice at his own heart broke, that final shard that even Nori had never been able to melt, and the pain as he thawed from the inside out this time was as bad as it had ever been, but that hardly even mattered now. Thorin was so horribly cold, the ice growing out of him sharp everywhere, and after that one tortured scream he went completely still. So horribly silent.

Like Nori. Just like Nori when Dwalin had to throw him into the water to be extinguished.

"Thorin, no..." Dwalin begged, clinging to him close as though there was any heat in his own body he could give his King. He would gladly give it all if Thorin could just _live_. Then there was Nori, burning bright, with the final fire berry they had fought so hard to steal appearing in his hand. Dwalin squeezed Thorin's cold jaw, opening his mouth, and Nori placed the fire berry within it.

For an endless moment it seemed that nothing was going to happen at all. Then Thorin's entire body convulsed, ice shards breaking off of his frozen joints. The seizure shook him, legs kicking out wildly and his head slamming back against Dwalin's chest. Dwalin loosened his hold—let Thorin convulse without injuring himself.

Nori draped himself across Dwalin's back, his carefully-modulated heat soaking through into Dwalin's bones to warm him, to give him warmth to give to Thorin. Lady Dis was standing over them, blazing with gold in the power of the fire berry she'd consumed, hands outstretched as she lay warmth over Thorin like a blanket.

The ice was receding, Thorin's rich black fur and hair showing through in one spot, and then another, and then spreading faster and faster like a piece of birch bark caught on fire. Thorin's convulsions weakened, and a deep moan of pain worked its way from the depths of Thorin's body. It went on and on, endless and agonized. Tears dripped down from the corners of Thorin's unfocused eyes, and tears rolled down Dwalin's snout to join them.

"Please," Dwalin begged. "Please, Thorin."

Thorin's legs kicked out again, weakly, and then he went still. But he was breathing. He was still breathing, that had to be hope. Dwalin placed his hand on Thorin's barrel above his heart, how Nori had done for him countless times, though he was no efreet to thaw it. All he could do was feel the beating of Thorin's heart and the rise and fall of his breath.

Nori kissed the back of Dwalin's neck and let go of him. The pain of the frost was gone—Dwalin had hardly realized it was fading, replaced as it was by the pain of fear.

"My Lady," Nori said, bowing and holding his hand out to Lady Dis. "Should we check on the rest of his taken soldiers?"

"I..." Lady Dis looked torn, eyes roving across Thorin's horribly still form. "Of course. Yes, we must. There is no more we can do for Thorin now. Dwalin." She nodded to him, and Dwalin made himself nod back politely, as much of a seated bow as he could make with Thorin in his arms.

They left him then, both of them. Dwalin was alone in the emptied courtyard, leaving behind only a few bear guards. Dwalin was alone with his King all but dead in his arms.

"Please," Dwalin begged again, holding Thorin close. "Come back to me my King, my brother. My love." It was more than he'd ever admitted aloud before, and his eyes stung with the tears that would not stop falling from them.

"Dwalin?" Thorin's voice was weak and hoarse. His hand reached up, blindly, shaking, and Dwalin caught it, held it tight.

"I'm here, Thorin," Dwalin promised. "I have you."

"My Captain," Thorin breathed. "My most trusted guard. My dearest friend. My... love." He laughed faintly, wonderingly, as though it had never occurred to him before. "My _love_."

The pain in Dwalin's heart was hope now, fragile and cruel enough to cut.

Thorin moved as if to heave himself upright, only to collapse back against Dwalin with a whinny of pain.

"Rest, rest. Be still a little longer," Dwalin soothed, gently stroking Thorin's gradually-warming skin and fur. "Let the fire berry do its work. You'll be all right," he promised, though there was no way to know if that was true or a lie. He had to believe it was true, even though there were ridges of scars visible on Thorin's body, where the ice shards had grown through his joints. Maybe they would always hurt now, maybe he would be as crippled as Bilbo was. There was no way to know.

"It hurts," Thorin groaned, turning his face to the side to press his cheek to Dwalin's chest.

"I know," Dwalin said. "It always hurts when the ice recedes. I know. I'm here."

"The ice?" Thorin's eyes widened. "The ice! _Stars_ , Dwalin, what have I done to Narnia? To my people? What have I _done_!?" The pain in his voice was sharp as awareness broke over him.

"What we thought was necessary," Dwalin promised him. "Only what we thought was needed, to keep Narnia safe." Dwalin had been the one who helped him search out the arkenstone to begin with. Dwalin was just as much at fault for the disaster that had become. "You didn't know. Rest now. We'll figure it out, together. I have you."

No matter what fate had in store for Thorin, Dwalin would be at his side. Even if he was exiled from Narnia, Dwalin would follow him there. He did not have it in him to do anything else.

Thorin squeezed Dwalin's hand, holding him close as he let his eyes close. "You have me," he said, and it meant so much more.


	18. Second Wave - of Narnian blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur finds Bilbo, in the aftermath

The castle was a mess. Bofur stumbled his way through it, after he was freed from the dungeons. The cold had broken fairly quickly after Nori's sudden exit, and the frozen-hearted guards collapsed. The ice towers had broken, and flowering vines were growing up over the castle to bloom and scent the air—turning it into the bright and vibrant place it had always been before King Thorin came back with the arkenstone and fell to its corruption.

The wolves and minotaurs that had been frozen were being gathered into a makeshift infirmary. Those rebels who had been frozen into statues were recovering much more easily, celebrating dancing out on the broad lawns that surrounded the castle. Birds were singing and spreading the good word, and folk who'd hidden and just tried to survive through the magical winter were swarming to the palace to join the celebration. Thorin and Lady Dis were walking slowly around the castle, with Dwalin holding on to Thorin to help him along, and Nori perched on Dwalin's far shoulder. Thorin and Dwalin were holding each other close, sharing touch as familiar strong as the friendship of ages, and as tenuous as the first spring leaf—while Nori hugged Dwalin's nearest horn and smiled at them both.

Bofur gathered the story as he went, figuring out what had _really_ happened, so he had a fairly decent idea what his own part in the story had been by the time he finally found Bilbo.

Bilbo had tucked himself out of the way, curled up in the shadow of an arching doorway, watching the revels and crying. Not in any showy kind of way, just the silent sobs of someone who couldn't stop. Bofur could feel Bilbo's hurt and heartbreak hanging thick as fog around him.

"Hullo, little hawthorn bush," Bofur greeted, sitting beside him.

Bilbo's jaw clenched, anger burning through his sorrow, so Bofur very nearly expected to be sent away with cursing as vicious as Bilbo had when he was fighting against Dwalin. Instead Bilbo wiped his reddened eyes on his sleeve, sniffed to clear his nose, and reached over to grab the flute off Bofur's belt. Bilbo hesitated, as though he wanted to break it over his knee, but to Bofur's great relief he merely set it down to the other side of himself, well out of Bofur's reach.

"No humming either," Bilbo ordered firmly, even with his chin trembling. "I'll thank you not to manipulate me further."

Bofur nodded. He'd hurt Bilbo, more than Bilbo even knew. That Bilbo was willing to talk to him at all was surprising. "So it turns out the prophecy was about Nori and Dwalin and some fire berries from the mountains of the sun?" Bofur commented. "Which honestly makes a lot more sense than it being allegorical? Prophecies. They only make sense looking back on them. Bunch of nonsense otherwise."

"You didn't know?" Bilbo's hands were clenched on his knees so hard the knuckles paled, but it still couldn't disguise how they were shaking.

"No," Bofur promised, and then switched to the old tongue so Bilbo could know he was telling the truth. "I did not know. They told me, if I didn't get you to the castle to break the winter, that all of Narnia would die. Everyone. My whole family and everyone I've ever known. I would never have done it if I'd known." Bofur shook his head hard.

"Oh Bofur..." Bilbo reached out to him, and Bofur gathered him up to his chest. He stroked Bilbo's back and kissed his curls and his ear and resisted the urge to hum comfort to soothe his pain and sorrow. "I thought... I thought I was _important_ for once in my life," Bilbo sobbed, "that I was finally doing something that mattered. Instead I was a pawn again. Just the _fool_ they used as a distraction."

"I'm so sorry Bilbo," Bofur whispered. "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"We were both of us pawns," Bilbo said, forgiving Bofur all at once with his love all sweet and sad. "You did what you had to." A flicker of anger warmed him. " _Fuck_ royalty and their power games," he spat.

"Pretty sure Dwalin's got that under control," Bofur commented, and Bilbo laughed only a little wetly and elbowed him in the belly.

They were quiet for a bit, after that, just holding each other and trading reassurance in touch. The revels were spreading, though, with creatures of all kinds dancing and singing and dryads in full bloom rubbing the crowns of their heads together to spread pollen on each other and into the wind. Bilbo's expression was eloquent longing as he gazed after them.

"I felt so at home here," Bilbo said. "Everything was so difficult, but I felt welcomed. Right. You know my mother's people, the Tooks, they always claimed fairy blood. Narnia, its... I felt like I'd fallen into one of my mother's stories."

"They must have Narnian ancestry," Bofur said, heart lightening. Bilbo had been raised human in his world of England, but he really was one of theirs. Bilbo was looking at him, wonder and hope in his face, and this Bofur could give him. He could finally show Bilbo where he belonged. "Mx Baggins," Bofur said, back in the old tongue again as he stood and offered Bilbo a hand up. "You're a hawthorn, a dryad. You really are. Put your feet on the earth. Feel it."

Bilbo was fearful, uncertain in his first hesitant steps off the stone and onto the mossy grass. Then his eyes widened, exhilarated laughter bubbling out of his throat as his bare toes rooted, wading through the rich earth as though it was water. Buds and the first tiny delicate shoots of his branches grew through his curling hair, and this time they were there to stay. No one was ever going to take it away from him again.

"There, you see?" Bofur said, but Bilbo knocked him over and together they rolled in the warm sunlit grass. Bofur was careful not to jostle Bilbo's bad leg, but besides that there was nothing to worry about. The battle was won and Narnia saved, even if it hadn't happened like they expected. They were a faun and a dryad, celebrating in springtime.

"Kiss me?" Bilbo begged, and Bofur couldn't deny him. He kissed Bilbo's mouth, sweet and messy, and Bilbo shuddered beneath him. His hands ran up and down Bofur's sides, gripped Bofur's shoulders like he could not bear to let go. Bilbo arched against him, rubbing his entire body against Bofur's, and shuddered through with a soft cry when Bofur nibbled on his bottom lip.

"What's happening? I've never felt so, so..." Bilbo broke off his question to kiss Bofur deep, and then moved down to the corner of his jaw and his neck, biting and licking like he was starving for Bofur's skin. It felt lovely. Bofur certainly wasn't going to stop him.

"You're a dryad in springtime," Bofur reminded, stroking down Bilbo's soft sides, then rucking up the bottom edge of his shirt to find his skin. "You're going to bloom." Nature would find its way, and even the most exhausted and injured of plants would bloom for all it was worth when the time was right.

"Good," Bilbo stated firmly, then he laughed and rolled them again. Further from the castle, and closer to the rest of the revels. He pinned Bofur beneath himself, lifting his round face up to the sun and then smiling down on Bofur as the first glossy leaves unfurled in his hair. "Now Bofur, I should like to do a great many things with you that I haven't had the chance before."

"Yes, please," Bofur answered, undoing Bilbo's buttons to set his skin bare, and little else needed to be said after that.

The revels surrounded them, and Bilbo's little pink blossoms spread pollen all over both their bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue left, folks
> 
> I'll be traveling on Friday, but I'll try to get it up before New Years!


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily ever after

When Bilbo returned to England, he brought with him a sack of Narnian earth, just as his grandfather had always claimed that _his_ grandmother did. He spread it through his garden, on every single bush and tree and vegetable bed growing in the place.

His long journey in Narnia had taken just a moment in England, and figuring _that_ out had been awkward and rather concerned the housekeeper.

When Bilbo returned to Narnia, he brought with him a pail of English earth, which he spread about Bofur's house in the western wastes. It was the earth of both worlds that had given him a path between, to begin with. Bilbo only figured it out when Lady Dis finally had the time to talk to him without trying to manipulate him. He was a creature of earth, and he'd taken himself to Narnia under the power of his own magic to begin with.

He could have gone home at once, if someone had bothered to explain to him.

Bilbo was not sure he would ever fully forgive Lady Dis for her deception. Luckily, she was royalty and he was a nobody, and he wasn't likely to ever see her again. Lady Dis had more power now, and Thorin less, but things had returned to normal now in Narnia. She ruled in Cair Paravel on the sea, and Bilbo never planned to go there again. He would just pop through the garden into Narnia to visit Bofur in the western wastes from time to time. The first few trips between England and Narnia were the hardest, but going between was a skill, and one Bilbo was quite determined to learn. Soon he could pass through at a whim.

He was considered a bit of an eccentric, in England, with his fondness of limping about the countryside barefoot and hatless. However it hurt no one, and there were those who'd come back from the war with worse habits, and Bilbo was left well enough alone. His Took cousins, those of them who'd survived the war, were closer to him than ever. In England, Bilbo was a confirmed bachelor and eccentric veteran of the war.

In Narnia Bilbo was a dryad. He grew sturdy and branched, rooted deep and drank of summer storms and sunlight. He bloomed in the springtime revels, and tumbled with Bofur in coupling more free and lovely than any he'd known in England.

In Narnia they could love fearlessly, and love they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through this odd fic. I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you want to leave a comment.  
> I've got the same name on tumblr, if you want to talk. I'm shy but friendly.  
> <3  
> TS

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [those who favor fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8895271) by [werpiper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werpiper/pseuds/werpiper)




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